In Your Dreams
by duj
Summary: SSHG, WIP, not HBP or DH compatible. Complete. Circumventing a prophecy is not that easy...
1. Petty Problems

PETTY PROBLEMS

**Disclaimer: This is an unauthorised tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**This fic owes something to the first few chapters of Kiristeen's "Mothers, Witches and Bargains Made". I began writing it shortly after OotP and have not altered it to be HBP-compatible, so it reflects my then-interpretations of canon although it moves in a quite AU direction. Post-OotP was a more innocent time for Snape-fans and that's reflected in the story.**

**Warning: This is an SSHG fic that begins when Hermione is still a student, though of age in the Wizarding World. The ethical issue will be raised but ultimately overstepped.**

Hermione Granger sat on the top step of the hall-stairs at 12 Grimmauld Place, secret headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and her home for the third consecutive summer. Home! It was a horrid, horrid, old place, but at least it was safe from outside attack and hopefully from inside attack too, since they'd cleared out all the dangerous, cursed objects their first summer there. And she'd be back at school in a week. Usually that would have been a cheering thought.

Not this time. Her head rested against the bannisters, her bushy, brown hair falling unheeded over her face. A book lay open on her lap, but she was not reading. She was waiting. Soon, the latest Order meeting would be over and she'd have to race down to catch a certain someone before he left. Her Potions master at Hogwarts, Professor Snape.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She didn't want to talk to him. Who would? He was as prickly as a thorn-bush and as sharp-tongued as a chainsaw. In six years of lessons, he'd never once praised her, despite her top marks. Instead he alternated between devastating insults, when he could find something to criticise, mostly for knowing the answers or helping Neville, and treating her as invisible, when he couldn't.

Biased, bullying, bad-tempered man! (Not that she'd ever say such a thing aloud. Teachers were knowledge-givers and deserved every outward sign of respect, as long as they did their job – which neatly let out Trelawney and Umbridge, she was pleased to say. But inwardly, she could admit that true was true and Snape was Snape.) He handed out praise to his Slytherins with the same lavish hand with which he deducted points from everyone else, especially Gryffindors. If there was anything he hated more than Gryffindor House, it was certain students belonging to it, namely her and her friends: her best friend, Ron, his sister, Ginny, poor old Neville, and, most of all, her other best friend, Harry. In the professor's eyes, Harry was guilty equally of being the famous Boy-Who-Lived and the infamous-Son-of-Potter (James). She snorted. Being Sirius Black's godson hadn't helped either.

She'd never heard the full story, but apparently, the professor had traded hate and hexes with James and Sirius all through their student days and, since they were half of a group of four pranksters, while he was a loner, she was sure she could guess who must have usually come off worst. And there'd also been some brainless prank or other involving their werewolf friend, Remus Lupin, that the professor insisted on calling attempted murder. She pursed her lips. It wasn't fair to blame Harry for what had happened before he was born, but then, no one had ever accused Professor Snape of being fair.

She gulped and clenched her teeth. How was she ever going to find the words to tell him his only chance of living through the next three months was – _Oh, forget it! No one could be brave enough to tell him that!_

She moved to stand up, then hastily grabbed her forgotten book as it began to slide off her lap. No sense letting it thud down the stairs and wake up the family portraits to start screaming insults again, especially old Mrs Black who screamed loudest of all. She folded the book closed and placed it beside her as she slowly sat back down. No sense either in pretending silence was an option. Not after Voldemort's return two years ago. Killings and kidnappings had begun again, with Muggle-borns and their non-magical parents as prime targets. As the Ministry of Magic was worse than useless, not only inert but infiltrated by Death Eaters and other Voldemort supporters, that left the Order and its three essential linchpins, Harry, figurehead and final weapon, Professor Dumbledore, Head of the Order and Headmaster at Hogwarts, and Professor Snape, Death Eater-turned-spy. His information was vital, his life irreplaceable.

Besides, that dream was driving her insane. Every night the same thing; every night a little worse. Or a lot. She couldn't take one more repetition, she couldn't!

If only she could still disbelieve in Divination, she could ignore it, but she'd learnt since third year that there were real prophecies. They'd had to fight Death Eaters at the Ministry a year ago to prevent the one about Harry from falling into Voldemort's hands and she knew instinctively that her recurrent dream of the last three weeks spoke just as real a prophecy. Or if only she hadn't walked out on the lessons before third year was up, she'd have been more sure of her ground. She couldn't help feeling she was forgetting something important, but her copy of _Unfogging the Future_ was at her parents' home. She hadn't expected ever to need it again.

Downstairs, a soft click broke the silence. She jumped up and raced down the steps to slide to a halt in front of her target. As usual, he was the first one out the door. She put out a hand to steady herself. One more step and she'd have crashed into him. He glared down his large, hooked nose at her as she gulped down lungfuls of air.

"Out of my way, Miss Granger." He hissed.

She looked up into his thin, sallow face framed by lank, black hair and swallowed hard.

"Professor, I need to speak to you in private."

Upstairs, two red heads and one black popped suddenly around a bedroom door. Hermione knew without looking that Ginny, Ron and Harry were listening. She'd escaped from them on the pretext of wanting to be alone, a perfectly acceptable excuse given the overcrowding, but they'd know better now and be waiting for her explanation. She'd already prepared a lie.

Her teacher drew himself up, scowling. Behind him, the other Order members were backed up in the doorway, looking surprised and disapproving.

"Indeed? Have you so wearied your – friends," (the word rolled out with silky malice) "with your annoying presence that you need to seek new victims to inflict yourself on?"

Hermione's hands clenched on her robes. She took a deep breath.

"I'd be happy to explain in a less public place, Professor."

He stepped aside from the door but she matched his movement, still pinning him in place. The others streamed out and pooled around, obviously listening. His eyes raked her up and down with casual contempt.

"I must suppose your overstuffed brain has lost the ability to distinguish between teacher and confidant. I am entirely uninterested in your petty problems."

There was a subdued hiss of indignation from upstairs. Hermione spoke through gritted teeth.

"It's urgent!"

Thin lips curled and his voice lowered to a menacing whisper.

"No doubt it can wait till term begins, when I may deal with you as you deserve for this impertinence."

She chewed on her bottom lip as she turned from his angry, black glare to the twinkling, blue eyes and genial smile of the silver-haired headmaster. Luckily, she had a back-up plan.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she entreated.

"I'm most curious to hear you, Miss Granger." He waved a deprecating hand. "Severus, will you join us?"

The darker man's brows snapped together and his lips thinned almost to invisibility. He knew the difference between a request and an order.

"As you wish, Headmaster." He followed the other two into a smaller side-room that he immediately warded against eavesdroppers with an Imperturbable.

Professor Dumbledore settled himself into a chair and pulled out a bag of Caramel Cremes, which he offered around. They both waved it aside.

"Well?" Snape's face now seemed to be composed entirely of hooknose and snarl.

Hermione gulped. The hours she'd spent rehearsing this scene were wasted. She couldn't remember a word.

"Nothing to say?" he asked. "We'll discuss this waste of professorial time next week, Miss Granger."

With an effort, she tore her eyes away to scan the room for inspiration and met the headmaster's twinkle. It would be easier to talk to him.

"Professor Snape," she whispered, "Professor Snape is in mortal danger."

Her subject snorted.

"Even your pointless chatter isn't capable of boring me to death. Or have you suddenly discovered that spying is dangerous?"

Stung, she wheeled to face him.

"Neither! But I've been dreaming your death every night for three weeks. It seems to be a prophecy dream. If it's true, you'll be dead by the end of term unless –"

He had half-turned so his face was in shadow. All she could see was a tall, brooding shape with hair as black as his robes. The headmaster was also staring, his half-unwrapped caramel dropping unheeded from one nerveless hand into the bag that his other curled around in a crushing spasm.

"Unless?" the older man prompted her urgently.

"Unless he marries – a student. Immediately."

There was a moment's silence.

"Crushing on a teacher, Miss Granger?" Snape asked. "Should I be flattered?"

The girl's shoulders slumped and she studied the floor. There was a faded red, black and cream carpet overlaying the wood. It must have been magnificent once. She wanted to crawl underneath and hide for a decade.

"The same dream every night for three weeks?" The headmaster's voice was sharp.

She licked her lips nervously.

"Not exactly. It always ends at the same point, I'm watching the dirt being shovelled over his coffin, but it keeps getting longer because – because – it feels like every night I step in a bit earlier and see a bit more."

She glanced at the still, dark figure in the corner. He seemed to have run out of insults. That was strange. Strange and a bit creepy.

"Last night, I watched boots kicking – kicking the body over." She sniffed and dashed her hand across her eyes. "And I always hear his voice telling me I could have saved him." She sniffed again. "I did think it might be a Destiny-Link."

Dumbledore stroked his long silver beard. His wrinkles were deeper and more drooping than Hermione had ever seen them as he too watched that motionless, waiting shadow.

"It does sound very like it," he agreed, "but then Professor Snape would have been dreaming it too."

Hermione caught her breath. That was it, of course; the important thing she'd forgotten. It was so obvious now.

"Severus?" the headmaster added. "Perhaps you have something to tell me?"

There was a long silence. Finally, Professor Snape inclined his head.

**A/N Dumbledore prefers lemon drops in canon, but he is at the least aware of Muggle sweets so I decided to write him a different snack.**

**_Unfogging the Future_, by Cassandra Vablatsky, was their third year Divination text. ****Destiny-Link dreams are not canon.**


	2. Out of Tune

OUT OF TUNE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. This chapter was previewed in the dim, distant past. Thanks to anyone who made comments at the time. I know that includes Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Professor Dumbledore's eyes rested on his colleague. After that single nod of admission, Professor Snape seemed to have no further comment on the imminent prospect of his death.

Hermione collapsed, wide-eyed, into a chair. The room was hot and her head was buzzing. There was a sick weight in her gut as if a piano had landed there and was jangling loudly out of tune.

"Oh my –" she breathed. "You knew? You knew and you tried to stop me saying."

Still he said nothing.

"Do you – do you want to die?" Her cheeks were wet. This wasn't right. Snape was hard and invulnerable as rock. He got angry; he didn't go quiet.

Dumbledore flinched. After a moment, Snape shrugged, hiding his thoughts behind half-closed lids. His voice was soft.

"Not particularly."

"Then why didn't you say something?" she shrilled.

The thin shoulders straightened and he was towering over her in an instant, eyes glittering.

"Your concern is unnecessary, Miss Granger. This is the risk I took. Be patient. The dreams will die when I do. Meanwhile, you're quite safe to use Dreamless Sleep Potion every night; you won't need it long enough to become addicted."

Her eyes prickled and her throat burned with sudden unexpected anger. She wanted to shake some sense of self-preservation into him.

"How dare you pretend the only thing that matters is whether I can sleep? You're going to die!" Her voice was almost too thick to squeeze out of her throat. Judging by the battered state of his dream-corpse, it wouldn't be an easy death.

"I could hardly fail to be aware of that, after twenty-one nights of you snivelling over my grave. Don't let it bother you."

"How can it not? You're always risking your life to keep us safe!"

"Let me assure you that your personal safety never enters into my considerations. You owe me nothing," he said.

She glared at his bleak, blank face. Liar! He'd been protecting her for six years. He'd been protecting her kind for sixteen.

"I can't spend the rest of my life knowing you died because I wouldn't save you!"

"That's easily solved. Get the headmaster to Obliviate you. No one would blame you, even if they knew, and there's no reason they ever should." His lips tightened. "You can't save everyone, you know."

Hermione was staring at her teacher as if she'd never seen him before. She'd made no plans beyond the telling, eager to shift responsibility from her own shoulders and confident they'd think of a solution that didn't involve her. But it was real now. A glance at the headmaster's ashen face confirmed the dreadful truth that it was her or nothing. This – man in front of her was preparing to go quietly away to death by torture. She could save him or she could watch him go.

She couldn't watch him go.

She clenched her teeth. Her stomach was turning over and she hoped desperately that she wouldn't be sick. Piano bits all over the floor.

"I'm – I'm offering."

"Are you that desperate for my approval, you'd even marry me to get it?"

Trust him to make everything even harder.

"No, I – Of course not – It isn't that!"

"Ah, I see," he drawled with vicious precision. "An attack of noble self-sacrifice. How very Gryffindor of you."

"I'm not the one going off to get murdered! Who's the Gryffindor now?"

A twitch of his little finger, visible only because he was standing and she was not, was the only sign she'd struck home. It was enough. For the first time, she was disputing him on an equal basis. At this moment, they were not teacher and student but male and female, person and person. And she could say what she thought, without fearing his punishment. She gloried in her power, ignoring a flicker of guilt. It served him right for all the times he'd hurt her feelings, all the times in the future he'd hurt her again. If he had a future.

"You will speak to me with proper respect, Miss Granger," he hissed. "I can still give you detention with Filch all year, even if I don't live long enough to see it. Perhaps I'm saying it because it's true."

"Or perhaps you're as blind to your own worth as you are to everyone else's!" she flung back. "Don't you think you're worth saving?"

"What I think is that you're making a fool of yourself. The whole idea is ridiculous. Why would you even think of such a thing?"

Her brow creased at his incomprehension.

"Why wouldn't I? It's the only right thing to do."

"On the contrary, it could hardly be more wrong!"

She shot him a sideways look through narrowed eyes.

"What's wrong about it?"

"I'm your teacher," he said. "My students are the closest to offspring I ever expected to have."

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

"You think of us as your children?" she squeaked. "Then all I can say is you're a horrid father!"

Another twitch of his little finger. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down and then he was snarling through clenched teeth, "The more reason not to marry me!"

She hung her head and chewed on her lip. That was twice she'd pricked him, twice within minutes. She hadn't even known she could. He was always making her feel like a fool. How could she not have known? Only someone unsure of his power flaunted it the way he did.

"I'm sorry. That was a foul thing for me to say." She glanced up and then away again. "When you've always looked after our welfare, even though you don't like us."

"Why would I need to like you to do what's best for you?"

Her brow wrinkled. He didn't need to, did he? She remembered how he'd bared his branded arm to prove Voldemort's return to the Minister of Magic two years ago, careless of the watching eyes of his least favourite students. He never counted the cost to himself if he thought something needed doing. He just did it, then stalked off and licked his wounds in private.

He'd returned to active spying immediately after, but she hadn't noticed until this moment how gaunt and worn he'd become. Suddenly, she understood the resigned fatalism that had infuriated her moments earlier. For two years, he'd been expecting discovery, torture and death at every turn. The dreams hadn't changed anything for him, not even removing the uncertainty of when. A surge of fierce protectiveness rushed through her. It was time someone protected him for a change.

"I trust you. You've always done what you thought was best for me. You always will."

He glowered at her.

"Then trust me to know what's best for you. You've obviously given this no thought whatsoever. Look at me, girl, and remember you'll be looking at me for the rest of your life! Think about everything you know of me; my age, my looks, my temper, my history. Do you really want to spend the next 150 years, if we both survive, with me or no one in your bed?"

She gave an involuntary shiver as he spat out the last word and was immediately ashamed as he blinked and his face set into stiff, careful lines that reminded her how gingerly she'd moved after that Death Eater hex had sliced her stomach open a year ago. Third time then. Why was she so inept?

"Do you even know what you're offering? How much experience do you have?" he demanded.

Even her toes turned crimson with mortification.

"My experience is none of your business!"

"It will be, if you go through with this," he told her grimly. "But you can have none, of course, or you wouldn't be so silly as to romanticize this predicament. Ridiculous child! How can you even think of marrying someone you actively dislike?"

That was a good question. They were all good questions. She wasn't sure of the answers. Age first. There were twenty years between them, almost a generation, and, though she'd been told she was mature for her years, he was aged well beyond his. Yet thirty-seven wasn't old in wizard terms.

"I don't dislike you – not all the time." She hurried on before he could say what was probably, by the glint in his eye, something even nastier. "The age difference will matter less as we grow older."

"The rest will only worsen."

She studied his lank greasy hair, crooked yellow teeth, too-large nose and too-thin lips. No disputing his ugliness, yet there was something exciting about his panther-prowl, his deep, dark eyes, even the dignity of his billowing robes. Last year, she'd found herself watching him under her eyelids, watching and wondering what he'd look like with a smile. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He was too impatient and ill tempered to smile, too carping and critical to endear himself. Yet she couldn't help admiring him, his resolute courage, his focused, logical mind, his unswerving, unstoppable loyalty. On balance, perhaps the rewards would outweigh the difficulties. Perhaps.

She wasn't going to tell him that, he'd only sneer again. She reviewed and discarded everything it occurred to her to say; there wasn't anything he wouldn't sneer at. On the other hand, her mother had always told her that actions speak louder than words. She'd need all her Gryffindor courage. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand and walk towards him. He watched with raised eyebrows. Then she reached out and curled her fingers around his hand, tugging it up for her inspection.

He stood rigid as she bent over it, tracing up and down his long competent fingers, lingering on the calluses from cutting and stirring. His hand was cool and dry, with a certain masculine roughness that caught on her fingertips. The veins on the back shone blue through the translucent skin. She took a deep breath.

"You have rather nice hands," she murmured, not daring to look up. "If we're going to do this, it would be helpful to concentrate on each other's good points. Try," _to overcome the habits of a lifetime_, "to think of something you admire about me."


	3. Misbehaving Student

MISBEHAVING STUDENT

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. This chapter was previewed in the dim, distant past. Thanks to anyone who made comments at the time. I know that includes Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

For a moment, Hermione stood heart-in-mouth, her small, soft hand clasping Professor Snape's larger one. Was he capable of even thinking something nice, let alone saying it? Then he wrenched his hand away and turned his back on her, striding off to stare into the empty fireplace.

"I used to wonder why the Hat didn't sort you into Ravenclaw, but you could only ever have been a Gryffindor," he complained.

She should have felt relieved she wouldn't have to marry him. She didn't.

"Is that why you hate me so much that you'd rather die than marry me?" she muttered, slumping back into her chair.

Dumbledore's eyes roamed from one to the other of them with a thoughtful edge to his returning twinkle. He would be silent a while longer. There were things they needed to say to each other.

Professor Snape glanced over his shoulder at her. Derisive, black eyes stabbed her brown ones, then he turned back to the fireplace.

"Why would you think I hate you? Have I ever treated you more harshly than any other misbehaving student? Surely you don't think I hate all of you?"

Her brow furrowed. Didn't he?

"When Malfoy hexed my teeth that time, you said you could see no difference." She couldn't keep the accusation out of her voice.

He gave an impatient snort.

"I know your parents are dentists, but surely you don't imagine I base my opinions of people on the size or shape of their teeth."

Professor Dumbledore gave a little chuckle. Hermione stared, with burning eyes and flushed cheeks, at the carpet. Why didn't they take her seriously?

"I suppose it's because I'm a Mudblood then," she jibed and quailed as Professor Snape whirled on her, a vein on his temple beginning to bulge.

"If I ever hear such language from you again, you'll be scrubbing your mouth out with the brush you've used on my classroom floor!"

She gulped, "Sorry Professor."

A moment longer he glared into her eyes, and then he turned away, rubbing his forehead, and walked over to a small table to finger the tarnished ornaments it held. He spoke so softly she almost couldn't hear him.

"As if any stain could be worse than having been a Death Eater!"

Shame flooded her. Four times she'd hurt him today, four and counting. Hadn't he repented long enough for that youthful mistake that she had to remind him about it? She changed the subject.

"Why won't you let me save you?"

"Hide behind you, you mean? I prefer the Dark Lord to have no one to punish for my actions but myself."

It was Death Eater habit to call Voldemort by that title, she knew, while most people said He-Who-Must Not-Be-Named or, more simply, You-Know-Who. The headmaster had always encouraged them to call him Voldemort, saying, "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." If anyone had reason to fear, it was Snape, facing the Dark wizard alone in a ring of Death Eaters with a lie in his mouth at every meeting, but he didn't seem to be afraid any more. He didn't even seem to care.

"I'm already a target," she said.

"That's no reason to paint yourself a larger bulls-eye," he told her.

"You're a good enough reason. It would be worth it."

Then her eyes opened wide. He wasn't facing her, but she could just glimpse his profile. Was he? He was, he was blushing. It was just the faintest tinge of pink in his cheeks, but he didn't seem to know quite where to look or what to do with his hands. She hid a triumphant smile. So he was taking her seriously.

He cleared his throat and turned up the intensity of his glare at the peacock quill he was running his finger along.

"No doubt your parents will be delighted to learn how eager you are to sacrifice them for a stranger," he said.

She lifted her chin.

They'd be proud," she shot back. "They know about the war. They know we'd all be safer in the short-term if I gave up magic and went back to live as a Muggle, but ultimately, if Voldemort won –"

"Don't say that name!" Snape growled simultaneously as Dumbledore said, "Well done!"

Hermione's mouth quirked up in a wry grin as she continued. Couldn't please them both on that point.

"If he won, he'd come looking for me and I'd have no defence then. Dad says that would be like kids sitting on a sand-castle when the tide is coming in." She'd never cared much for hobbits herself, but she'd found frequent reason to bless her dad's favourite author for having shaped his worldview so much to her convenience. Whenever the question of removing her from the dangers of Hogwarts and the wizarding world had come up, it had always produced the outcome she desired.

Narrowed eyes scorned her reasoning.

"Except they won't know that's why you want to marry me and you won't be able to explain. Not to anyone. The dream-link alone proves my true loyalties; that's reason enough for the other side to kill me." He huffed out a long breath. "Do you honestly think your parents would let you marry one of your teachers? We're supposed to protect you, not prey on you!"

"Between the three of us, I'm sure we can think up an excuse."

"An excuse!" He shook his head. "Do you think it so easy simultaneously to satisfy your parents, the Dark Lord, the Ministry, the Board of Governors, the entire parent and student body, the Daily Prophet and all its readers – not to mention the Order and your best friends? They watched you ask to speak to me privately, and they'll want to know why."

She sat up straighter. This she was ready for.

"I prepared an alibi. I'm going to let them think I wanted to discuss improvements to the formula for Polyjuice. I even creased my book to open to the right page."

He gave her a pitying look from under raised brows.

"Well enough, if you only had today to explain, but if the next thing you do is marry me, what do you imagine they'll think? What else can they think?"

Her face flamed and fell as she gulped and gulped again. OK, she wasn't ready. That hadn't entered her head.

"Anyone who's a real friend will trust me," she protested weakly.

"What a comforting reflection that will be, when your erstwhile friends can't look you in the eye and everyone's calling for you to be expelled as a cheat who slept your way to good marks," he said, with blighting bluntness. He turned away, back to staring into the fireplace. "How that will cheer us all up, when they throw me into Azkaban for seducing you and turn the headmaster out of doors for having let such scandal go on right under his nose!"

Hermione stared at him. Her fists clenched as she leaned passionately forward.

"I don't believe you. There must be a way!"

"Count yourself lucky if you don't find yourself waking from Imperio with your parents' bowels and brains dripping from your hands, or Crucioed into insanity for spoiling the Dark Lord's plans. Talk fast enough to convince him of _the truth_, that you've given him Hogwarts, and maybe he'll offer you the chance to save yourself by taking the Mark. I wouldn't count on it though; you know how he feels about Muggle-borns."

There was no vestige of sympathy or apology in that silky drawl. She turned red and white by turns. After a minute, she said in a very subdued tone, "If we – if we left the country?"

"The Order would be crippled, with no Head and no spy. All your friends would be picked off one by one; it would be the first war over again, but worse. As for us, we'd be disgraced and penniless, with a price on our heads, and tied for the rest of our fortunately short lives to the last people we've ever wished a closer connection with. Our best choice is for you to go upstairs and pretend none of this happened. I'll supply you with Dreamless Sleep for as long as you need it," _until I'm dead_, "and if memories bother you afterwards, I'm sure the headmaster would be willing to wipe all memory of this from your mind."

Her fingernails were biting holes in her palms. She barely noticed.

"I won't! I refuse to believe there's no way to save you!" She turned to the third person in the room. _Why was he so quiet? _"Professor Dumbledore, there must be a way!"

That's because you're a child," Snape cut in. "Sometimes there is no way."

A mild, blue gaze commanded his silence. He subsided in scowling obedience.

"Yet I agree that we must at least explore the possibilities," the headmaster said. "Severus, your life is too essential to throw it away."

"You'd risk everything? To save one?"

"Not to save would be as big a risk. I must."

The younger man sighed and bowed his head.

"You know I won't disobey you, headmaster. Fortunately, the prophecy did not stipulate physical consummation of the binding and the ceremony should be chosen to reflect that. We'll be less likely to murder each other if we can escape to separate bedrooms."

Hermione scowled, feeling insulted, even though she had to admit it was sensible advice.

"You do hate me."

"Don't be melodramatic. If you wish to be treated as an adult, you'd better start behaving like one," her fiancé said. He turned to his superior. "We haven't told you the prophecy. You'd best hear it, I suppose. In my dream, it's Miss Granger who speaks. In hers, I assume it's mine?"

She shot him a quick glance and nodded.

"Yes," she said. "You always tell me, '_All shall be as you see; I shall not reach December,  
Unless we married be, before we start September.  
Should your lips seal our bond, broken may yet be mended,  
Hearts that were cold grow fond, and sorrow's grip be ended.'_"

She gulped, adding, "And then I wake up." _Crying._

Dumbledore smiled. "It seems to suggest a rather hopeful conclusion."

"That's as may be," Snape rejoined. "Evidently, we must be married before the school year starts. How do you propose to explain such haste?"

"That's barely a week and so much to do before then," the headmaster lamented. "I still haven't found a Defence teacher either. No applicants." Blue eyes apologised to black. "Please don't ask. You know my decision."

Hermione averted her eyes. Snape in a temper was not a pretty sight, but she could understand his frustration. All Hogwarts Defense teachers for decades had ended in disaster. Nobody wanted the job except him and, for whatever reason, he wasn't allowed even to ask. She let her mind wander to her favourite book, _Hogwarts, a History_. There'd been similar runs of bad luck or coincidence before. The last had been 213 years ago. It had ended when they'd invoked an ancient school regulation …

"That's it!" she said. "The Rule of Replacement!" She grinned as both men turned to stare at her.

"_When no other candidate offers himself, the headmaster may appoint a seventh year student as an assistant professor, provided said student marries a current Hogwarts professor of at least five years standing _–_"_

"_Precedence going to the youngest unmarried teacher of appropriate gender_," the headmaster capped her quotation. "Miss Granger, I never cease to marvel at your encyclopedic knowledge on the most disparate subjects."

"Professor, that's the nicest way anyone's ever called me a know-it-all." Her eyes slid briefly to a glowering Professor Snape. He'd called her that often, but never as a compliment.

"Ridiculous!' he said. "That hasn't been used for over two centuries." Even two years ago, when they'd had Dolores Umbridge dumped on them, they hadn't considered invoking it. "It should have been revoked!"

"But it was not," the headmaster reminded him. "And it's the perfect solution to our dilemma."

Half an hour later, Hermione left the room, sped on her way by one final adjuration from Snape to think again and withdraw her offer before it was too late. A long, fidgeting silence fell between the two men. Dumbledore glanced over at his colleague and away several times before he spoke.

"You'll speak to him tonight?" No need to name names between himself and Severus, they'd been together too long to need them.

"Yes. I'll tell him you're forcing me to this very distasteful union on threat of dismissal, in hopes of avoiding another Ministry appointee. I believe he finds my presence at your side important enough to order me to submit." There was not even a tremor in his voice at the prospect of bringing the irascible Dark Lord an unwelcome ultimatum.

A silver head nodded.

"I'll tackle the Governors myself, of course. If they agree, the Ministry can't overrule them."

"He'll want me to twist her into spying on Potter," the younger man grumbled. "It's always about Potter."

"You'd better get in first. Tell him Harry hates you too much to have anything to do with your wife, so this separates him from his strongest support."

"That's true enough. Without her brains and steady good sense, he's liable to run his fool head into more trouble than even he can slide out of." The boy was lucky rather than skilful. One day, his luck would run out.

Blue eyes opened teasingly wide.

"So you do admire her."

Snape shrugged his disinterest, knowing that would be more convincing than any protestations.

"She's well enough, if only she were older and less –" _less reckless, less talkative, less know-it-all, less naïve. _His mouth firmed. "Less Gryffindor. What will the brat do without her?"

"Perhaps young Ginevra will take her place."

Thin lips curled into a disbelieving sneer. _Replace Hermione Granger with a Weasley? That was like Transfiguring galleons to gravel._

Dumbledore's smile faded as the silence lengthened.

"You weren't going to tell me. Not even goodbye."

His friend retreated behind hair and veiled eyelids again, picking up a tarnished snuffbox and making a show of examining it.

"I set everything in order. You'd have found a letter in my rooms. After."

He set the snuffbox down and glided to the door without waiting for an answer. He paused at the threshold.

"Albus, you're the father my own never was." A hint of lifted shoulders. "But we both know I was never the favoured son."

"Severus -"

"It was Potter and Black in my schooldays. It's Potter's son now." His voice was expressionless. "Do you think we don't know you'd sacrifice any or all of us to keep him safe?"

And then he was gone. A moment later, the front door clicked shut with gentle finality.

**A/N I've slightly changed the wording of the first line of dream prophecy, from "before you reach" to "I shall not reach", because I think it's clearer.**

**Would Hogwarts have such a rule on its books? Who knows what rules they've made in a thousand years? The thinking behind it accords well enough with older ideas about marriage, adulthood and pedagogy that I believe it passes the plausibility test. If you disagree, may I respectfully point out the title of the story?**

**Canon doesn't specify whether Sirius threw out all the ornaments or only those that were cursed or broken. I've decided to assume the latter.**

**The sand-castle reference is to ROTK, ch 9: "Then you would have us retreat to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth, or to Dunharrow, and there sit like children on sand-castles when the tide is flowing?" said Imrahil.**

**You may recognise the last section. I wrote it here first and, thinking I'd never post this, cannibalised it for Snape-Dialogues.**


	4. A Substitute for Lying

A SUBSTITUTE FOR LYING

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. This chapter was previewed in the dim, distant past. Thanks to anyone who made comments at the time. I know that includes Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Snape brought half a dozen vials of Dreamless Sleep that evening after dinner, stopping only long enough to consign them to Molly Weasley for Hermione's use before stalking off again. After she'd told him during their interview that Ginny knew of her nightmares, though not their content, he'd decreed that they should be the alibi for her insistence on speaking to him.

_"Always work with what you have, rather than invent circumstances," he'd advised her. "The fewer loose ends, the harder to unravel your story."_

"You never told us you'd been having nightmares," Molly fretted. She'd been mothering Hermione along with her own children and Harry for years now. "I could have helped you."

"I miss my parents," Hermione muttered. "I'm always worrying about them." It was true enough. Non-sequiturs were such an effective substitute for lying and much less troubling to her Gryffindor conscience; another piece of Snapish advice.

After that, it was easy to conceal the details of the dreams: the shouts of laughter and jeering; cloaked figures moving in, boots kicking the broken body around and over; the long, silent hours till it was found; the even longer wait till identity could be confirmed; the burial preparations; the funeral; and finally the dirt falling on the coffin and Snape's voice a slow whisper in her head, speaking words she hadn't understood till that morning, for who could think of Snape and sorrow in the one breath?

_"All shall be as you see; I shall not reach December,  
Unless we married be, before we start September.  
Should your lips seal our bond, broken may yet be mended,  
Hearts that were cold grow fond, and sorrow's grip be ended." _

No, she wouldn't have told them any of that, even if she could. At least she wouldn't have to see it again; one more night and she'd have been forced to actually watch him die. There was nothing for her to do now but wait and wonder if she was mad.

She was going to marry Snape! Grumpy, greasy, grouchy Snape! And he didn't even like her, he'd made that very clear, and she didn't like him, not really. Just because he – because she – because it hurt to see him so deadened. So – she searched for the word – so reduced. She almost preferred him snarling and spitting out insults than waiting, quiescent and uncomplaining, to die.

He'd always been passionate and perfectionist and driven. He'd been harsh and hurtful, even hateful, but so alive he'd crackled with energy, always striding, always billowing. Outwardly he still did, but he was hollowed out from inside. How long had he been letting go? Was he only holding on because he was too stubborn to fall? Or worse, was he refusing to reach out for death only because he was afraid it wouldn't be the end, that unfinished business would condemn him to walk the halls of Hogwarts as a ghost forever?

Ron, Ginny and Harry found her snappish and disinclined to talk, especially about Snape and how much they looked forward to escaping his tutelage in just one more year, two for Ginny. They didn't know that she wasn't going to escape him ever, that she'd committed herself to his company for the rest of his life. Yet every time she told herself she wouldn't, couldn't do it, she remembered the alternative. No, she wouldn't let him die. Not even if he wanted to.

The next two days dragged, but on the third morning she woke to hear that Professor Dumbledore was closeted with Ron and Ginny's parents. She could barely feign interest in her friends' speculations as she gagged on tiny mouthfuls of orange juice, which were the only breakfast she could swallow. It was done then. It was time.

The front door opened and closed again. The headmaster had returned to Hogwarts and Mr Weasley had left for work. Then Mrs Weasley marched into the kitchen, cheeks flushed and lips thin and straight. She bustled around the kitchen in grim silence as Ron and Ginny shrank in on themselves and Harry stared at the floor.

"Hermione, dear," she said, as the sink filled with water, "you stay here and help with the dishes. The rest of you go upstairs and turn out the bedrooms, please."

They cast commiserating, mystified glances at Hermione as they escaped. As soon as they were gone and the dishes were washing themselves, Molly exploded into speech. Hermione hastily cast a privacy charm, just in case someone had an Extendable Ear attached to the other side of the door.

"I never heard anything so monstrous in my life! The very idea of you marrying that old bat, I can't imagine what Albus is thinking!" Molly huffed.

Hermione's heart sank. Her friends' mother had always insisted her children use his title when discussing him. Hermione had assumed she respected him at least. Apparently not.

"Nasty creature," Mrs Weasley ranted on, "Never smiled in his life, I'll bet, and a former Death Eater to boot!"

"I don't want to hear any more insults about the man I intend to marry," Hermione said. "Don't think I'll sit here quietly and let you criticise him."

The other stared. "You can't like him! Nobody likes him!"

Hermione gulped. She hadn't expected this issue to come up quite so bluntly, not from the grown-ups, and she hadn't prepared a response. For a moment, her determination faltered and she closed her eyes, only to be jolted back by lingering nightmare images. Never mind, she could do this. Just accentuate the positive, no need to actually lie.

"Professor Dumbledore does," she pointed out.

"Who doesn't Albus like?" The answer came in an indignant sniff.

"He's the bravest, most self-sacrificing person I know. Whatever mistakes he made when he was my age, don't you think he's paid for them long enough?"

"No I don't!" Mrs Weasley snapped, remembering the two brothers she'd lost. "It could never be enough."

There was a hard, hot ache in Hermione's chest. She tried to picture her teacher torturing and killing, but she couldn't. For all that his casual cruelty in the classroom had routinely hurt their feelings, it had efficiently protected their bodies. She tried to remember if she'd ever seen him lay a finger on a student. No, no matter what the provocation.

He'd been a Death Eater. It was silly to think he could have evaded participating in their worse activities, sillier still to pretend he'd never done so willingly. If she'd lived through Voldemort's first rising, if her own friends and family had died, would she also be unforgiving?

Her teeth worried her lower lip. He was the reason her friends hadn't died. He'd saved Harry in first year and, every time he returned to Voldemort, he was protecting them at risk of his own life. She shook her head, swallowing hard. Whatever he'd done all those years ago, he wasn't that person any more. No one could despise him for his past half as much as he did himself and he'd been trying to atone for longer than she'd been alive.

"It makes me ashamed how you all treat him." She struggled to keep her voice steady. "Every time he's called, he could be walking away to a horrible end, but you don't care. One day, he won't come back and when you stop thinking he's betrayed you and realise he's dead –" Saying it made it real. Her voice broke and for a moment she couldn't continue. "You'll just say it served him right."

'Even he doesn't care any more,' she thought miserably. She turned her face away, pressing her fist against her mouth. If she lived another two hundred years, she'd never forget him telling her to wait patiently for his death to end her nightmares. She blinked away stupid, stupid tears.

Ron's mum stared at her and collapsed into a chair.

"My goodness! You've got a crush on him?"

Hermione flushed crimson with irritation.

"It's not a crush, I'm not a silly twelve year old." Actually, she'd been thirteen the last time she'd crushed on a teacher, and of course it hadn't been him. "Do you think I'm stupid? I've been his student for six years, I know he's a bad-tempered, impatient grouch, with a mean mouth!" _Oops. Admitting that had been a mistake. "Never concede an unnecessary point," he'd told her._

Mrs Weasley gave her a puzzled, pitying look.

"Why on earth would you agree to live with a bad-tempered, impatient grouch, with a mean mouth?"

Good question. Hermione gritted her teeth. She'd walked into that one.

"Because there's so much more to him than that." _Brave, brilliant, determined, honourable._ "He's earned my trust and respect again and again. Somehow, he's the one to come looking for us when we're in danger. No one else even notices." _Except maybe Professor Dumbledore. But if he does, he chooses to turn a blind eye – when he's not encouraging us on. What sort of headmaster sends a first year his father's Invisibility Cloak?_

"To get you in trouble," the woman scoffed.

"To get us out of trouble! What do detentions and house points matter, when he's keeping us alive and safe?"

"Ron's never said –"

"Ron never looks past his greasy hair and sarky comments. But he came to rescue us in third year, even though he knew Remus had forgotten his potion and was going to transform, even though he believed Sirius was a killer. It was the very same place where they'd almost killed him when they were all sixteen, but none of that stopped him."

'We stopped him,' she thought guiltily. 'Knocked him unconscious in front of his enemies.' It had seemed like the only thing to do at the time, but it hurt now to remember it. He'd come to save them and they'd turned their wands against him.

"That was just spite, to get rid of them." But Molly's voice was uncertain.

Hermione snorted.

"Oh yes, you'd all believe he'd face a werewolf and a mass-murderer just for spite, wouldn't you?" She'd believed it herself then, but she knew better now.

Molly frowned. The dishes continued washing themselves in the sink.

"He's twenty years older than you. There's no hurry to marry anyone, but at least it should be someone your own age."

"No one my age ever looks at me. Except that one time at the Triwizard Ball when I dolled myself up for Viktor."

The Bulgarian Seeker had been eighteen to her fifteen, more a man than a boy. Those three years had seemed an impenetrable barrier then. She hadn't been ready for anything but friendship and after a while Viktor had moved on. Now, she was planning to marry someone seventeen years older again. _Don't think about that. Don't get sidetracked._

"But that took hours," Hermione continued. "I don't want to waste my time trying to look pretty for prats who only care about smooth hair and fancy clothes." _Like Ron_. "I'm just not interested." _Any more_. "Professor Snape cares more whether people think than how they look and that suits me just fine. He suits me just fine."

"And you're still calling him Professor."

"He is still my professor till my parents agree. I might be of age as a witch, but I'm still a minor in the Muggle world and he insisted we get their consent."

"Maybe they can talk some sense into you," Molly grumbled. "I'm taking you there in an hour."

"Just, please, don't turn them against him by playing up his faults. He does that enough himself."

Molly frowned.

"I doubt I'll need to. What sort of teacher marries his student? What sort of excuse can he give for that?"

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to snap that the woman should ask him herself, but she restrained herself. He'd advised her that sometimes it was better to give out a plausible reason to prevent malicious gossips inventing their own. She picked her way through what he'd told her.

"The thing is, he never expected to live long enough for marriage or children." That was kinder than the reality that he'd never thought anyone would have him, but its unexpected truth burned her throat. He'd been anticipating imminent death since he was her age. "He couldn't even look because he'd have had to tell them – everything he can't tell anyone. And he's never been satisfied that Defence Against the Dark Arts was being taught properly and this way he can make sure it is, because he'll be supervising me. And it needs to be taught right, you know it does."

Mrs Weasley grimaced. "Don't you care that all your friends hate him?"

"They don't get a say in what I do with my life. This is just the most amazing opportunity! I've always wanted to teach at Hogwarts and now I can."

"At a cost!"

"I think he'll suit me rather well, if you must know. We have enough interests in common that we'll always have things to talk about and we're different enough that we won't get bored with each other."

"You mean he'll always find things to insult you about." Mrs Weasley struck at her weak point.

Hermione thought fast. "I'm used to that, it's rather funny now. Hearing the compliment in what he doesn't say." She grinned. "And there's so much that he doesn't say."

After Molly left, Hermione rested her elbows on the table and her head in her arms. She hadn't had to lie, though she'd stretched the truth out of shape more than once. Molly had been mollified – she stifled a giggle at her silly pun – but not really convinced. She closed her eyes and took long, deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She already felt exhausted. Would she have to go through this with everyone? And Ron and Harry would probably be even more blunt.

She must be mad. There was no other explanation.

**A/N I've slightly changed the wording of the first line of dream prophecy, from "before you reach" to "I shall not reach".**


	5. Startlingly Exposed

STARTLINGLY EXPOSED

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible, as it dates back to 2003/4. This chapter was previewed in that dim, distant past. Thanks to anyone who made comments at the time. I know that includes Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**Dates and ages in this fic pre-date post-HBP and Black Family Tree recalculations, but not JK's change of mind about Hermione's age. In the earliest drafts, Hermione was only 16, not 17, but I revised that when JK did. As the storyline can't be reconciled to HBP, I feel justified in resisting any further compatibility revisions.**

Hermione had thought of her argument with Mrs Weasley as a rehearsal for confronting her parents, only to find that the addition of characters had changed the script.

She'd never seen her professors in Muggle clothing before. Her eyes slid over Professor Dumbledore, resplendent in aqua boiler suit with multiple pink pockets bulging with caramels, registering only a passing thought that she hoped he wouldn't offer them around. This would be hard enough without one of her dad's twenty-minute diatribes on the evils of sticky sweets. Strangely, the bright costume was only a backdrop to his companion, in black high-necked shirt and trousers and with his hair tied back at the nape. It wasn't so very different from his usual clothing, yet it left his face and figure as startlingly exposed as if he'd stripped. No hanging curtains of hair to obscure his cheekbones and jaw; no flowing robes to conceal his narrow length. No hiding the weary rigidity of his set shoulders or the bony thinness of his wrists. She couldn't look away. She wanted to feed him a nourishing hot meal and tuck him into bed, hold him safe till he fell into peaceful sleep. Her face flooded with colour, but luckily everyone else was looking at the headmaster.

"Hogwarts was founded a thousand years ago," the silver-haired old wizard was saying, "and its rules and regulations have served us well, however outlandish some may seem now. We've never needed competent Defence teaching more yet we seem quite unable to keep a teacher longer than a year. We'd like to invoke the Rule of Replacement to appoint a seventh year student as a junior professor, an apprentice as it were. And who better than your daughter, who is not only outstanding in every subject but also the co-founder of a Defence Club in her fifth year?"

"You want Hermione to start teaching before she's even graduated?" asked Perry Granger, running a hand through his fluffy tonsure. "How could that work?"

"What about her own education?" added Hermione's mum, Helen.

"We're proposing she study privately for her N.E.W.T.s with a designated tutor and take them over two years instead of one, whilst team-teaching three subjects up to third year level under supervision."

The Grangers cast Professor Snape identical suspicious glares.

"Who?" Helen Granger demanded, as if she hadn't already guessed.

"Professor Snape, our Potions master, who is also an expert in Defence." The headmaster indicated his scowling colleague.

"If he's so well-qualified, why doesn't he teach it himself?" said Perry.

"A Potions master is just as necessary and even harder to replace," Dumbledore explained.

"I don't like the idea." Mrs Granger frowned. "I'm not convinced Professor Snape is the best choice for Hermione. She'd do better with someone more encouraging."

"No doubt your daughter had her own reasons for choosing me," Snape said.

Her parents and Mrs Weasley all turned expectantly to the girl. She didn't look up.

"You're thinking how I used to write home complaining he was cruel and unfair," she muttered, glancing sidelong at her teacher's face. One corner of her mouth twitched, remembering what he'd told her. _Some truths are too obvious to conceal so don't try. Turn your weaknesses into strengths. _

"He hasn't changed, he'll always be strict and take no excuses, but I suppose I have." She smiled suddenly. "Now I think he's my best teacher. Everyone else measures me against the rest of the class. He's the only one who always challenges me."

"Are you sure?" her mum asked. "I don't suppose you've had much time to think it over. It sounds like you'll be spending an awful lot of time in his company."

"Completely. I discussed the position in detail with the headmaster and I also had a long talk with Professor Snape and I'm going to enjoy spending time with him on equal terms."

Her dad's hazel eyes flitted from headmaster to teacher to daughter and back. He didn't like the way his little girl was looking at that sour-faced man.

"I don't like the idea of Hermione spending so much time alone with a male teacher," he pronounced with grim gravity. "Isn't there a female she could apprentice with, her Head of House maybe?"

Hermione's head shot up. "Do you mean -? If you knew him, you'd never think that. He's the most honourable man I've ever met!"

"Respect, Miss Granger!" the honourable man warned.

The headmaster stroked his long, silver beard. The reassuring twinkle in his blue eyes was turned on full-force.

"Ah yes, I hadn't got to that point yet. Anticipating that one so young would need extra measures of protection and seniority and that her reputation would be threatened no less than her affections, the founders conditioned any such appointment upon tutor and apprentice marrying each other."

"Marrying? That's medieval! Why would she marry him? She's not even eighteen!" Mr Granger exploded.

"I forbid it," his wife chimed in. "I won't have my daughter marrying a bad-tempered, bad-natured man, who's old enough to be her father!" Mrs Weasley nodded agreement.

"He's not bad-natured!" Hermione was half out of her chair, leaning red-faced across the table. "He's brave and brilliant and loyal and if I want to marry him, I will! I'm of age in our world."

Her parents understood she meant the wizard world, not theirs. They bristled at the exclusion.

"Hermione!" wailed her scandalised mother.

"You're not of age in ours, and don't go telling me that you will be in three weeks because he's obviously been abusing his position of trust for you to even think of such thing!" her father was leaning forward too, eyeballing her with equal fury. They looked very much alike.

"He has not! Anyway, you can't stop me!" Hogwarts was in Scotland. She could have married there without their consent any time after turning sixteen.

"Miss Granger, apparently you weren't paying attention when we discussed this. I'd thought I'd made my position perfectly clear," said the man in question.

"But –" She gave him a look of mute protest. But then he'd die.

Eyes like black slits skewered her. His voice got even softer and colder.

"Did I not?"

She gulped. "_Use persuasion, not confrontation_; _agreement, not aggression," he'd said._

"Yes, Professor."

The man who regularly outfaced Voldemort, could hardly be fazed by mere Muggles, prospective in-laws or not. He turned to her parents.

"I make all allowance for your concerns, which are very natural, but unfounded. I imagine you realised, when you sent your child into our world, that she would grow up with very different ideas. I trust you'll give us a hearing at least."

'You must be twice her age." Perry Granger led the attack.

"I'm thirty-seven. That's not an insuperable age difference amongst wizards."

"She's your student."

"As I've been teaching since the age of twenty-one at the only magical school in Great Britain, it's highly unlikely I could find a wife who has not been my student. This arrangement would make us colleagues, however," Snape replied.

"And you claim you've never done anything to entice her affections?" Perry continued.

"Neither hers nor any other student's."

"You've been teaching nearly as long as she's been alive. She must seem like a child to you."

The dark man gave him back look for look.

"These objections are transient and easily surmounted. The marital relationship supercedes the authority of the classroom, as I believe your own laws recognise. Our future disagreements – and I've no doubt there'll be many – may be resolved on an equal footing. Your daughter is of age in our world and almost so in yours, and she's never been one to shirk a responsibility. I see in the girl, the woman she will become – is becoming. Do you suppose any of your daughter's teachers to be blind to such qualities as courage, determination and intelligence?"

Hermione stared. "You've never said anything like that before!"

"In my experience, praise is less effective than criticism."

"You always praise Malfoy," she grumbled.

"Draco is an exemplary Potions student, as competent as you and far more obedient," he returned crushingly. "Do you begrudge him recognition that you receive from every other teacher, but Slytherins find in myself alone?"

Hermione stared at the table. She wanted to argue but this was not the time or place. His advice was fresh in her mind. _Never forget your purpose; don't let yourself be sidetracked into issues that impede it._

"I've always understood that you grossly favour your own house," Mrs Granger cut in.

"I merely attempt to equalise their situation by compensating for the prejudice they encounter everywhere else."

Four pairs of eyes turned to the headmaster's twinkling smile. Surely he would take issue with that!

"Severus is entirely dedicated to his students' welfare, as are we all. Naturally, we don't always agree on methods, which does make for some rather lively discussions in the staffroom. No doubt Miss Granger will have new insights and perceptions that may cause some of us to alter our own."

"I'm sure she has many," Perry said. "But why would the other teachers accept her as an equal when they've been teaching her up until a few months ago?"

"It wouldn't be the first time a former student has joined the staff. Severus himself works alongside people who remember him as a first year. Her colleagues will accept her and, after the first shock, the students will soon follow their lead."

"I don't like it. It seems insane! But so much about your world seems insane to us. We can't judge rules and customs that we don't understand," Perry mused, sharing a thoughtful glance with his wife. "We knew she'd be growing into a different life, but we'd no idea how different. Molly, are arranged marriages like this common?"

"In some circles, mainly older, pureblood families. Most of us marry for love. I did and I'd be very disappointed if any of my children did otherwise."

"And marrying at this age?" Helen Granger probed.

"She's been of age for almost a year. Some of her classmates may even marry younger," Molly said. "Personally, I wouldn't wish any of my children to marry in their teens."

"Customs differ, but human nature's the same everywhere," Helen continued. "Do you know Professor Snape well? Would he make her a good husband?"

"Perhaps you'd like me to leave the room so everyone can express their unvarnished opinions without fear of my response?" the man interjected.

"That won't be necessary." Molly gave him a straight look. "I wouldn't say anything behind your back that I'd be ashamed to say in front of you. We know him slightly, but he's not a friend. He's not very well liked in general. Most people he's taught come out hating him."

"Teaching is not a popularity contest," Snape replied as all eyes turned to him. "Brewing potions requires intense concentration, strict discipline, rigorous attention to detail and the ability to work under extreme pressure. The least I tolerate from my students is to be able to brew a headache potion while suffering a migraine or to learn they'd better not try. Those too dunderheaded to fear carelessness, learn care through fear of my temper instead. It's an adequate substitute, I believe. I'd rather see them hating me than dead."

"We've heard all about your – hmm – explosive temper and sarcastic tongue in the classroom. Are you different outside it?" Helen asked.

"Not substantially, but, as you probably know, Miss Granger is not easily intimidated. She's shown a marked preference for challenging my authority, in class and out." He locked eyes with Hermione.

"I'm not afraid of you," she agreed. "How could I be, when I know you'd risk death to save any of us?"

"Such exaggerated language is quite unnecessary," he told her.

"You know it's the exact truth," she said. "I've seen you."

"If I've protected you, that was no more than a teacher's duty. If you'd stop throwing yourself needlessly into danger –"

"And when will you stop throwing yourself needlessly into danger?" she flung back.

"I don't do anything needlessly!" he snapped.

"Children, children," the headmaster said. "You wish to protect each other, it's very natural and commendable. No need to quarrel."

They left off glaring at each other to glare at him. He twinkled back.

'You do quarrel at the drop of a hat," Mrs Granger returned to the assault. "What on earth makes you think you could be happy together?"

Snape's eyes rested broodingly on Hermione for a long moment.

"Disagreements, openly voiced, accord better with happiness than does silent resentment. Admiration, trust and true concern for each other's welfare grow into affection," he said. "Rest assured, I'll always treat your daughter with the respect she deserves."

"The better I know him, the more I like him," Hermione added, "and I'm sure that will only continue."

For the next hour, her parents interrogated their prospective son-in-law about his family, history, finances, habits and expectations as Hermione watched, secretly admiring how adroitly he sidestepped difficult issues. Then, after hammering out the details of her education, employment conditions and future prospects, they took her aside for a private family conference.

"He's twenty years older," her father reminded her, as if it was the first instead of the fifteenth time he was saying it.

"That doesn't seem to matter when we don't even know if we'll be alive next week," she replied bluntly. "If we both survive, I doubt I'll care when I'm seventy that he's ninety."

"What about when you're twenty or twenty-five, all set to spread your wings and explore the world, and he's set in his ways and stuck in the same place. You'll be pulling in different directions; you may even grow to hate each other." And apparently there was no divorce in the wizarding world. She'd stared when Hermione let that out. Really, it was barbaric!

"Mum, if I didn't hate him till now, I never will. But it's never going to be like that. We're in the centre of resistance, we have responsibilities to more than ourselves. I'll be taking on an adult role right from the start and he'll help me all I need, but he'll never coddle me." Her mouth twisted into a wry little moue. "He's not the type."

She swallowed hard and met her parents' troubled gaze with decision in her eyes.

"No, it won't be romantic or fun or any of the things I expected when I was a kid. I'm not a kid. I can't look past the war, it could be one year, it could be fifty. All I can do is look after him in the meantime, because I'll never forgive myself if I let something happen to him and I could have stopped it. I can't sleep for worrying about him." That was the truest thing she'd said yet.

"I'm sure he's capable of looking after himself," her mother said.

"His own welfare is the last thing he ever thinks about," Hermione said bitterly.

Helen tried a different tack.

"Why do you like him anyway? I grant he's handsome enough -"

Hermione choked on her own tongue.

"Handsome? Mum, you didn't just tell me you think he's handsome?" she squeaked after a long, incredulous moment.

Mrs Granger considered.

"He could be, if he'd fix his teeth. Not in a conventional way, but rather striking. Tall, dark and elegant."

"He stalks around school like an avenging fury with billowing robes and greasy hair and – Trust me, nobody thinks he's handsome." Hermione shook her head ruefully. _Time for more weaknesses to be turned to strengths._

"And he won't be easy to live with either. He's thin-skinned and sharp-tongued and I bet he never apologises when he's wrong," _except once_, "and we're both so strong-minded, we'll probably argue over everything. Do you think I haven't thought about all that?" She smiled. "But he's worth it."

"But this is forever. Couldn't you wait a year or two?" Knowing her strong will, her dad was resigned to the inevitable.

"I don't want to wait a day."

**A/N This chapter was really the impetus for the fic. I wondered whether reasonable people could believably be convinced to allow their not-quite-of-age daughter to marry a stranger to themselves, of whom they've previously heard little good. (Not that they could stop her, but they could try.) Of course, my opinion is influenced by the fact that my parents let me, as a sheltered 20-year old, 29 years ago, marry a man I'd met less than a week earlier. The "different world" argument applied for me too, but the clincher was when I told my dad that my soon-to-be husband was "exactly like you."**

**Canon doesn't specify whether Hogwarts is "the only magical school in Great Britain" or simply the only one we hear about. JK has said that not all magical teens study there, which might invalidate Snape's contention about his chances of meeting a non-Hogwarts love-interest, but, as a spy, he must be accustomed to "lying with the truth" and he's chosen his words quite carefully.**


	6. Celebration Treat

CELEBRATION TREAT

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and to my previewer, Bellegeste. My review responses will probably be delayed for a few weeks, but I will try to post again next week, in the intermediate days of Passover.**

Afterwards, Hermione looked back on the impromptu tea party that followed her parents' capitulation as a little window of enchantment before a gathering storm. Frowns relaxed into smiles over Earl Grey and Chocolate Wheatens, her dad's celebration treat of choice, and whenever she looked at her fiancé, he seemed to be watching her with all the wondering absorption of a child petting a kitten for the first time. She couldn't help hoping that was real.

At any rate, it sustained her through the suspicious looks her friends cast at her shopping that afternoon – two dress robes, five work robes in various jewel colours, three pairs of flannel pyjamas and a wool dressing-gown, a full set of Junior-level textbooks and only half her Senior texts, a quantity of odd-looking journals and files, a large Ever-Refresh bottle of red ink and, strangest of all, a silver and emerald hair-clip – and the screaming fight, after they'd returned to Grimmauld Place, that resulted from explaining her purchases. Ron's open-mouthed "Brilliant! Flipping brilliant! You get to give Malfoy detentions!" on learning of her new professorial status, dissolved into betrayed fury on hearing the corollary. For almost a minute, the boys couldn't speak and Ginny didn't want to. Unfortunately, it didn't last.

"You aren't!" Ron said, slamming his fist on the table. "You aren't marrying that git. You can't."

"Don't call him a git!" Hermione said. "I can and I am. I want to."

"I don't know what's worse," Harry said disbelievingly. "Selling yourself for a job or actually liking the person who killed Sirius."

"Don't blame Severus for that. He had nothing to do with it," protested Hermione.

"So, it's Severus now, is it?" Ron roared.

Harry spoke over him, "If he hadn't always been taunting Sirius –"

"Then Sirius would still have gone to the Ministry, Harry. You know he would." _He was too reckless to endure his prison of a home forever and besides – _"He loved you too much to sit at home when you were in danger." Hermione's hands clasped and unclasped in her lap.

"So it's my fault, is it?" He shut his mouth then and turned away from her. It was the last time he spoke to her that day.

_A bit._ "It's Bellatrix's fault, not yours. And Voldemort's, of course. All of it's his fault. You have to stop blaming Severus for telling Sirius exactly what Sirius would have told him if their places had been reversed." _Please._

"But you like him," Ginny said with a grimace. "You like him and you know he hates us."

"He doesn't –"

"She's always liked him," Ron said. "She's been defending him forever." He jumped up and started pacing, his face twisted and his voice high and smarmy in bitter imitation of a younger Hermione. "'Dumbledore trusts him, Ron. He's a teacher, Ron, he wouldn't do anything wrong.' I bet she fancied him when she was eleven."

Hermione stared at her white-knuckled hands. "Don't, Ron. That's just sick."

"You're the one who's sick, Hermione, wanting to marry the greasy git of the dungeons. And he's twice your age! I knew you worshipped teachers, but I didn't know you were trying to catch one."

"Stop it!"

Ron shook his finger at her. "If you were ever our friend, you'll tell him you've changed your mind."

"I don't belong to you, Ronald Bilius Weasley! If you were ever my friend, you'll come to my wedding tomorrow and smile," she retorted.

"Not smile," Ginny said. "You can't expect us to smile. Wait, did you say tomorrow? You're marrying him tomorrow? What's the big rush?"

Hermione looked at her.

"Well – school – and, and – preparations – and training –"

"Bet she just can't wait to get his greasy hands all over her!" Ron sneered, and it only got worse from there. Half an hour later, he was rubbing his slapped cheek as she stormed out of the room.

"Mental," he said.

The other Order members who stopped by that night were more polite, but equally as disapproving, all except for Mr Weasley who patted her on the shoulder as he passed her on the stairs before dinner.

"I hope you'll be very happy," he said. It would have been more comforting if he hadn't sounded so dubious, but she thanked him with a tight smile.

"I'm sure I will be," she lied.

Ginny returned to the attack at bedtime, as Hermione put down her brush and started on the important job of plaiting her hair for bed so she could wrench a brush through it in the morning.

"Why are you marrying him really? It isn't just to lord it over the other seventh years as a teacher, is it? Aren't you above that?"

Hermione glared at her.

"It's nothing to do with that. I do want to be a Hogwarts teacher, that part's true, and it's wonderful to be offered a chance to apprentice, but you can't think I'd be marrying him if that were all!"

"Why are you then? Maybe Ron's a prat, but you can't deny Snape's never been anything but horrid to the lot of us."

"Severus," Hermione said resolutely, popping the elastic band on the end of her braided hair, "Severus isn't horrid. Maybe he has a bit of a temper –"

"A bit? A bit?" Ginny challenged, leaning forward with chin outthrust.

"Oh, all right, so he's the most irritable man I know," Hermione admitted. "So what? I don't always like him, but he _matters_." She flopped on the bed suddenly and took a long, deep breath. It was a relief to be speaking the exact, simple truth. The truth was never simple. "He matters tremendously." She looked her friend sheepishly in the eye. "I didn't expect him to, but he does."

Ginny lounged half-dressed on the bed.

"And what brought that on? A sudden yen to be insulted? You don't have to marry him for that, he'll do it gratis. 'Annoying presence, overstuffed brain, petty problems…' Remember that?"

Hermione leaned back onto piled up pillows and looked up at the ceiling. Slowly, her mouth curled in a smirk.

"If he tells me that again, I can point out that he's one of my petty problems. Seriously, Ginny, he can't insult me now without me insulting him right back," she pointed out, hoping as much to convince herself as to convert Ginny. He'd said they'd argue as equals. He'd sounded as if he meant it. On the other hand, Voldemort probably always thought he meant his promises too. "What's not to like?"

"Umm, everything?" Ginny suggested, cocking her head playfully to one side.

Hermione rolled her eyes and rummaged for her vial of Dreamless Sleep. After tonight, there would be no bad dreams to ward against. Well, no prophecy dreams, anyway.

"Yuk, horrid stuff," she said incautiously as she fiddled with the stopper. "Glad I won't need this after tonight."

Ginny turned a strange shade of plum that didn't suit her red hair at all.

"Eww. Argh. Snape … wedding night. Hermione, I didn't need those images in my head."

Secure in the knowledge that her wedding night wouldn't entail a marriage bed, Hermione allowed herself to grin.

"Sorry." She patted Crookshanks, who had curled up next to her. " Hope Severus likes cats," she said, yawning largely. "Should have asked him, I guess." Not that it mattered; he wasn't in a position to complain.

It was great to have Ginny onside. The next morning, she convinced Harry and Ron to attend the wedding at the Granger's house. Then she helped Hermione put her hair up into an elegant twist, secured by the new hairclip, with a few curling tendrils framing her face and the back of her neck.

"You look like a princess," she said wistfully, fingering the ivory silk robes. She could still hardly believe her friend was wasting them – and herself – on Snape. Her own robes were lemon-yellow, a birthday gift from the twins, who would probably have confiscated them if they'd known she'd end up wearing them to honour their least-liked teacher (after Umbridge).

Dumbledore had brought half-a-dozen colleagues, McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, Sinistra, Sprout and Hagrid, and Molly and Remus Lupin represented the Order. Then the groom showed up with his attendant and several jaws dropped. They made a striking pair, one in black, his long cloak caught by a silver and emerald clasp, and the other in pearl grey to match his eyes, two tall, lean figures like a pair of opposing kings from a wizard's chess board, but it wasn't their looks that caused the stir.

"Flipping heck! What's he doing here?" Ron asked the question on everyone's lips as Harry's fingers tightened around his wand.

Malfoy magnificently ignored them and swept over to the bride to bow over her hand, holding it just tight enough that she couldn't withdraw it without making a scene. She shot her soon-to-be husband a glare, which was answered with a sneer as he turned away to greet her parents.

"My duty and honour, godmother," said Draco Malfoy, towering over her as he stood. When the heck had he got this tall? His expression was perfectly composed, but his eyes mocked.

Hermione closed her mouth with an audible gulp. _He? And She? And Severus didn't warn her?_ Luckily, her wide reading and near-photographic memory prompted the correct response to her lips.

"My favour and friendship, Draco."

She watched him turn away to shake hands with her parents with formal courtesy and no visible sign of distaste, and then nod, coolly smiling, to her friends, for all the world as if they weren't glaring murder at him, and her hand closed on her groom's wrist, pulling him close. He looked at her hand then her face and raised an eyebrow.

She leaned in to hiss at him, "What's he doing in my parents' house?"

"I believe he just told you," he murmured back, deftly tucking her urgent hand in his arm so they stood side-by-side as any conventional happy couple might. "He's my godson and now yours too." It was little more than a courtesy title in her case, but an obligatory one. "You claimed to trust me. Have I caught you out already?"

She felt strongly tempted to slap him, but he, like Malf – like Draco, was holding her hand too tightly.

"He doesn't know where this is. I Side-Along Apparated him to the front garden and Filius will Side-Along him home afterwards," he added. "Or I will. You still have time to draw back, you know."

She glanced sideways at him. Was that why he'd sprung this on her? To frighten her into drawing back?

"That's very sweet of you," she lied. "But I wouldn't dream of it. You are the man of my dreams, after all." She said that slightly louder. Ron looked as if he was about to be sick. Severus, to his credit, didn't even look exasperated.

"Then we may as well start," he said.

Hermione's courage drained abruptly, but she managed the responses with only a slight tremble in her voice.

"My faith, my favour, my fealty… My love, my labour, my loyalty… My heart, my hope, my open hand."

She drank half the loving-cup and handed it to Severus to drain.

"In trust, entrust our trust," his deeper voice said with hers. "Always and forever, from this day forward; my life for yours, your life for mine."

He pulled the clip from her hair, releasing a cascade of riotous curls, and handed it to Ginny, who transfigured it to a ring and returned it to Hermione to slip on his finger. Hermione then unpinned his cloak and handed the clasp to Draco. In short order, it too had been transfigured into a ring for Severus to place on her finger. Next, groom wrapped cloak around self and bride, shielding them from view as their lips brushed in the requisite kiss, and held it closed till the witnesses completed the declarations.

"Witness this union… Two become one… As 'tis said, so 'tis done."

Her hand went up to her mouth as his head lifted from hers. She couldn't even tell if his lips were cold or warm, soft or dry. The cloak fell away and she blinked at the restoration of light and blinked again as a camera flashed. Then she was pulled away in a whirl of hugs and good wishes while her husband was crowded with handshakes and claps on the back, which he bore with cold patience.

"Never thought we'd see this day, eh?" squeaked Filius Flitwick.

"I'm that happy for yeh, for the both o' yeh," boomed Hagrid.

Only Harry stood apart, glowering, with clenched hands thrust in his pockets.

Through the chatter and joking as they crowded around the buffet lunch, Hermione heard snatches of Prof – Minerva's explanations of the ceremony to her parents.

"Unpinning the hair symbolizes the marriage bed and wrapping the cloak represents his promise to shelter and house her –"

From across the table, Harry's eyes burned as he watched her. Ron nudged him.

"That's it, then," he said heavily. "No turning back after this. Guess she's lost to us now."

Hermione couldn't hear their whispers, but she didn't need to. It was in every line of their stiff, disapproving bodies. She bit her lower lip hard. Her face was stiff from smiling when her husband appeared beside her and brusquely handed her a loaded plate.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry," she muttered. She was married. She was married to her teacher! She was married to the one teacher she'd tried to please and couldn't, the one teacher she didn't know how to please. Flattery and sycophancy would have endeared her to Trelawney and Umbridge, but nothing had ever worked on him.

"You will be," he promised. "Classes start in three days. Your training starts as soon as we leave here. Did you remember to pack your old class notes?"

She grimaced and nodded, but obediently picked up a crustless egg sandwich and looked at it. Her stomach was too empty to eat. Anything she swallowed would drop like a stone. She nibbled at the edge.

"Did you mean what you said to my parents yesterday?" she ventured, staring at his be-ringed hand.

His voice was as cold as his expression.

"I always mean what I say, on one level or another, except when certain considerations interfere." Even here, he wouldn't speak openly of espionage.

She glanced sideways through narrowed eyes. Was this one of those times?

"You said I had courage, determination and intelligence," she said hopefully.

"I don't believe I said anything of the kind. I asked if they thought your teachers unable to recognise such qualities in our students."

She bit her lip and tried again. "You told them you'd always treat me with the respect I deserve."

He smirked.

"And so I shall. With exactly as much respect as you deserve."

**A/N The wedding ceremony is my own invention, though a few elements are borrowed. **


	7. Godric's Great Head

7. GODRIC'S GREAT HEAD

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to my reviewers and my previewer, Bellegeste. Review responses may be delayed as it's the middle of Passover.**

Hermione looked out over her classroom. They seemed to be quiet now and the diminutive student down the back was staring at her with artificially widened eyes after she'd snapped at him for inattention.

"Who can tell me which part of a Manticore is the most dangerous?" she asked.

Besides him, his taller friend stuck his hand in the air, waving it around so dramatically she could almost feel the wind currents. She rolled her eyes, but picked him anyway. No one else had a hand up at all.

He stood up and began declaiming pompously, "The manticore is a highly dangerous Greek beast with the head of a man, the body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion. Manticore skin repels almost all known charms and the sting causes instant death. Manticores are as dangerous as Chimaeras and as rare. They –"

"That will do. I don't need you to teach my lesson for me." She glared at him, but he only smirked and remained standing. "Sit _down,_ Mr Snape! And two points from Slytherin for being a know-it-all."

Another student jumped out of her chair, hands on hips. "That isn't fair! He was only telling you the answer, you can't take points from him for that!"

"I can do as I please in my own classroom, Miss McGonagall. Five points from Gryffindor for rudeness and if you say another word it will be a weekend detention with Mr Filch."

"But Madam Snape –"

"Silence! Sit down, all of you, and open your textbooks at page 219." She waited until they sullenly obeyed then she shook her head ruefully. "All right, tell me what I'm doing wrong here." She turned a warning eye on her husband. "Not you, thanks. I've heard quite enough from you … Was I really that bad?"

"Worse," he said smugly.

"Oh, now, Severus, don't tease the poor girl. As if you weren't nearly the same whenever you deigned to answer a question in my class," Minerva said.

"I don't believe I ever jumped up and down, begging 'Pick me, pick me!' even as a first-year."

"It may not be to your advantage to remember the past in quite such loving detail, Severus," Hermione warned. "I might start remembering some of your less stellar moments too. That werewolf lesson, for instance, when you told Dean, or was it Seamus, that Kappas live in Mongolia – " She raised an eyebrow and received a glare in return.

"No need to fret about your teaching," Filius squeaked. He didn't like quarrels. "You'll do very well."

"Just remember to take command of the classroom from the first moment you step in it," Minerva said. "Even if that means being a little heavy-handed."

"And never turn your back on the class unless you've Transfigured a pair of eyes in the back of your head," Severus added.

Hermione nodded. She'd learned that one the hard way.

"Thanks for teaching me that spell you always use to put your instructions up," she said. If she could magic the writing onto the board, she'd never need to turn her back to the class. She smiled at the other two Heads of House. "And thanks, both of you, for giving me so much of your time when you have new classes to prepare for as well." She'd be taking over their junior classes and they'd be teaching intermediate and senior Defence.

"Fortunately, we have Severus's excellent notes to work from," Filius said.

They'd been feverishly producing lesson-plans for three days, with the occasional break for practical training sessions like this one. They couldn't have done it if Severus hadn't made a hobby of rewriting the Defence syllabus to his own satisfaction. When Hermione had asked why he bothered, he'd pursed his lips and replied that it was a safer fantasy than planning punishments for his least-liked students. That had silenced her.

"Only one hour till the Sorting Feast," Hermione remarked when she was alone with her husband in their living-room. She hadn't known what to expect of his quarters, but they were homey enough, except that one always had to remove a pile of books from any chair one wanted to sit in. She did so now. "I'm dreading the way they'll stare when they see me."

"You should take the opportunity to rest," he said, knowing she had all the energy of youth but not the stamina of maturity. She'd emerged from her bedroom at 7.30 am each day since their wedding, after he'd already been brewing for two hours, and she'd been yawning by 10.30 every night. "It wouldn't do to fall asleep in your pudding. I'd have to Mobilicorpus you to your room."

"No. You'd put me on a stretcher," she said incautiously, remembering her third year. Then she bit her lip as he stiffened.

"You were unconscious," he said, his eyes like black slits.

"I had a Time-Turner," she said sheepishly. There was no point pretending not to understand. "My other self was watching you."

For a long moment, she hoped he wasn't going to say anything more, yet at the same time there was all the sick fascination of ripping the skin off a blister. It hurt, but somehow one couldn't stop.

"I knew about the Time-Turner. You used it to save the person I must suspect of beating my unconscious body about the head and feet. Did you come back to watch that a second time? No doubt it was a pleasant show." His voice was deceptively mild.

"No! How could you think I would? I didn't see that either time! Are you sure –?" But presumably he must be sure that he'd woken up more battered than a simple knockout would have caused. And as she'd seen nothing at the time, there was only one place where the injuries could have occurred. "It was Sirius that directed your body through the passage. I suppose it was difficult to avoid bumping you."

"I see. I did not merit a stretcher, of course."

She stared at the stone floor.

"No," she admitted, her stomach curdling with shame at the memory of how long he'd lain disregarded on the floor before anyone thought to check if he was breathing, how his head had lolled as he hung in the air. She wasn't sure a stretcher would have fit comfortably through the twisting passage, but she couldn't deny that they'd disregarded his safety. "That didn't occur to us. I'm sorry. I hope I know better now."

"I must admit, I find it strange that you wished to save me now after having been so indifferent to my fate before." He wasn't looking at her either. "You evidently trusted me less than any chance-comer, be he convict or werewolf."

"Lupin wasn't exactly a chance-comer," she protested half-heartedly. "It wasn't that we didn't trust you exactly. But you were insisting that you were going to hand them over to the Dementors and we couldn't let you! What if they were innocent? And they were! I can't even say I wouldn't do it again, because I think in the same circumstances I probably would still disarm you. Only I'd take better care of you after and make sure you were awake to hear the true story. Everything would have been different if we had. Wormtail would have been caught and Sirius could have been cleared and You-Know-Who wouldn't have come back yet."

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs, in a rare moment of informality.

"Perhaps."

She traced the grain of the table with her fingers for a long time.

"Would you still have told Lupin's secret?"

He gave a short laugh. "He almost ate you and you can still doubt that he needed to be removed? He even told you how he'd deceived Albus all year, pretending he didn't know how the murderer was entering the school!"

"But Sirius wasn't a murderer."

"I thought you were generally supposed to have some capacity for intelligent thought. Did Lupin know that when he shielded him?" Already he was sitting stiff and straight again.

"Oh. I suppose I see your point. Then you're not sorry." After she said it, she wished she could recall that last sentence, but it didn't bring the explosion she was expecting.

"I don't know," he admitted slowly, tracing his thin lips with one lean finger. "Between Lupin and Barty and dear Dolores, I suppose I must concede that he was the lesser evil."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The din of the students' arrival after the quietude of the last few days was like waking up in a Surround-sound cinema. The students jostled and called to each other as they found their seats at the four long tables. Hermione watched the new Head Girl, Morag MacDougal, confiscate a box of Weasley firecrackers from a petulant fourth year. Her throat filled and her eyes prickled. That would have been her badge, if she hadn't married Severus. She glanced sideways at him. He stared obliviously on at his Slytherins, where Millicent Bulstrode was disentangling a small knot of combatants by the simple expedient of picking them up and plonking them down at separate ends of the bench.

"What's the Mudblood doing at the Professor's table?" One voice rose, disastrously clear and piercing.

In the sudden hush as approximately three hundred heads turned to stare, Draco's soft reply was similarly audible.

"I doubt our Head of House appreciates you slagging off his wife, Parkinson. Better watch your tongue in future." He turned to the rest of the hall, his Head Boy badge flashing in the candle-light. Hermione blinked. They chose him? She hadn't thought to ask, but she'd never have expected that. Although she had to admit, when she thought it over, that he'd been almost as industrious as he'd been invisible over the last year. "That goes for all of you," he added, raising his voice slightly. "Any disparaging comments will be reported to Professor Snape."

For possibly the first time ever, no one turned to watch the first years enter. Even the Sorting Hat's song was an anti-climax now.

_A thousand years I've sorted  
Yellow, blue and green from red.  
Since Salazar first spied me  
Upon great Godric's head. _

There was a ripple of laughter from the Slytherin tables. Hermione looked an inquiry at Severus.

"Slytherin joke." He smirked. "It's a rather large hat."

She choked.

_But little did the founders know,  
Those four dear friends united,  
They were planting seeds of hatred  
As their Houses were divided._

_For Gryffindor prized courage most,  
He loved the brave and bold,  
While Slytherin favoured cunning minds  
With calculation cold,_

_Ravenclaw loved intellect,  
The brightest and the best,  
While Hufflepuff with loyalty and patience  
Took the rest._

_Over time, you've grown apart,  
Distrusting each the other,  
Till now dislike fills every heart  
Of sister and of brother._

_United stand, divided fall,  
Make no mistake about it.  
Good fellowship is what we need,  
We will not stand without it._

_Now here's a good example  
In this match of unity,  
Slytherin's head with Gryffindor  
Joined in harmony._

The buzz at the green and red tables rose to dull roar, but still no one but Ginny and Draco would meet Hermione's eye.

_Let eye find eye with friendship.  
Let hand shake hand with trust,  
All houses stand together;  
You can – and now, you must._

**A/N The description of the manticore is not quite word-for-word from Newt Scamander's _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._**

**Canon doesn't specify which student Snape "corrected" about Kappas.**


	8. Prolonged Contact

PROLONGED CONTACT

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to my previewers, Bellegeste (who came up with Slyther-in-law) and Cecelle.**

Hermione watched the Sorting with more general interest than previously. As a student, even after she'd received her prized Prefect's badge, she'd been chiefly concerned with identifying potential House-mates, but, as a teacher, she would be in prolonged contact with the students of every house. In fact, she'd be teaching these firsties three subjects for three years.

"Benson, Zoaida … Deloraine, Frank … Dubonnet, Amandine …" Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw…

"She's tiny," Hermione said, staring at the coffee-coloured sprite with rainbow dreadlocks. "She can't be older than seven." Except she wouldn't be here if she hadn't already turned eleven.

At that moment, Peeves winked into the Hall and threw a slime-bomb among the squealing, scattering first years. The Bloody Baron swooped on the poltergeist and chased him out as Minerva efficiently Evanescoed the mess and continued with scarcely a pause, until two girls suddenly wailed at being left in shirts and skirts by the disappearance of their robes. A lanky boy with unremarkable features and a surprised smirk had copied the spell on his nearest neighbours.

"Five points from whatever house you're Sorrted into!" Minerva's brogue thickened with rage. "And a detention tomorrow night. No magic in the halls and corridors, laddie, and never cast an unfamiliar spell on a person!"

"He'll be a Gryffindor," Severus said, smirking. "That's a promising start to the year." Hermione glared half-heartedly at him.

More names, more children. The prankster turned out to be Martin Jamison, a Gryffindor as predicted, and his victims were Cathie Keaney and Annette Lely, a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw.

"Newfoil, Melanie."

"That will be another of yours," Severus told Hermione, glaringly surveying the bouncy child with a tip-tilted nose. She was.

"Patil, Argave" was harder to place. Padma and Parvati glared at their cousin when he punched his hand triumphantly into the air and raced off to high five two other Slytherin firsties. Blaise shot them a stern look, but Draco just looked bemused.

"He's very Muggle for a Slytherin," Hermione told Severus, who smirked.

"You're just jealous he's one of mine."

From his other side, Pomona snorted.

"You always think you have the best candidates, but it hasn't brought you the Cup in the last six years, has it?"

Hermione winced. She knew he blamed Harry for that.

"This next one looks like a Ravenclaw," she said at random, a moment before the Hat shouted, "Gryffindor."

Finally the last child was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Hermione's stomach fluttered and fell as Professor Dumbledore stood up to make all the usual announcements. No entering the Forbidden Forest, no hexing in the halls and corridors – that one was superfluous this year – and the whereabouts of Filch's ever-growing list of banned objects; then came the one she was dreading.

"Tonight we welcome our youngest staff member since 1784, Madam Hermione Snape, as Junior Professor in Charms, Transfigurations and Defense. Her appointment was made under one of our time-hallowed regulations, the Rule of Replacement, which states that '_When no other candidate is found, the headmaster may appoint a seventh year student as an assistant professor, provided said student marries a current Hogwarts professor of at least five years standing, precedence going to the youngest unmarried teacher of appropriate gender.' _Rarely have we had such an outstanding seventh year candidate for such a role. It is fortunate therefore that occasion to implement this regulation has been even rarer. I hope you will all join me in congratulating Professor and Madam Snape on their recent marriage."

The two Snapes stood up, Hermione blushing, her husband glowering menacingly. He nodded ironically at the scattered polite applause, louder from his colleagues than from any student table. At least no one had quite dared to catcall, though there were some ominous mutterings in several corners of the room, which he seemed to be cataloguing and archiving for future reference. Then he nodded to his wife, indicating that she should sit first, and waited for her to do so before resuming his own seat.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione was yawning over her notes when her husband returned from the traditional welcome to Slytherins. It hadn't taken long. Ten minutes to introduce the first years to the prefects, each other and himself, then another forty minutes of "informal discussion". Of course, this year the discussion had been all about their surprise new Slyther-in-law.

"How did they take it?" she asked, almost before he was through the door.

"Exactly as one would expect. With private scorn and public congratulations. You surely didn't imagine that any of them would dare to harangue me about such a personal matter?" he said, sitting down in the empty chair she'd cleared for him when she cleared her own. She inwardly congratulated herself on having inveigled him into sitting so near.

"No one ever dares to talk back to you, do they?"

"On the contrary, Potter cheeked me in your very first lesson and hasn't stopped since. He's his father all over again."

Hermione paused before replying. She should begin as she meant to go on and she certainly didn't want to be hearing criticisms of her best friends, morning, noon and night, for the next century. Should she tell him she didn't want to hear it? Something he'd told her parents stopped her. _Disagreements, openly voiced, accord better with happiness than does silent resentment. _There was truth in that. Perhaps she could gently persuade him that he'd misjudged them. After all, she knew her friends much better than he did.

"Everyone says that, but how can he be? I'm sure his father wasn't brought up in a cupboard and treated like a scullery maid."

"No, James Potter was a pampered, spoiled, conceited darling who treated everyone else like scullery maids." His foot knocked over a pile of books. A wave of his wand restored them.

"Well, then," she said, as if that were proof enough. "Harry would never treat anyone like a scullery maid."

"He treats me very little better."

She bit her lip.

"Only because you've done your best to antagonise him from the moment you met," she apologised. "I always thought you hated him on sight."

"Silly girl. I've told you before that I don't hate any of my students. That would require me to wish them harm and you must know by now that I don't. Or were you lying when you told your parents that you believed I'd risk my life to save any of you?"

"Of course I wasn't. I'd be pretty silly not to know that about you by now. You've been saving Harry since first year." Biting her lip, she stared down at her papers and straightened them unnecessarily.

"He doesn't seem to know it," Severus said, picking up a book from the nearest pile and turning it over broodingly.

"You are very good at hiding it, you know. I suppose you have to be, to keep your cover. But Harry does know, really. In his heart, he knows."

He snorted.

"I despair of that boy. He, to be the one on whom all our hopes depend! Too reckless to think before jumping into danger and too conceited and arrogant to learn the skills he needs to survive."

Hermione clasped her hands very tightly in her lap. Harry wasn't conceited – or particularly reckless, really – just self-reliant and resolute. He'd had to be at the Dursleys; there'd been no adults or even friends to rely on there. So now, when he saw something that needed doing, he just charged in and did it. If that made him seem impulsive and rash to people who didn't know him, so be it; the self-sacrificing courage with which he offered life and limb would hardly baulk at offering reputation. She wanted to tell Severus so, but this was her opening to discuss something more urgent than mending rocky relationships and she wasn't going to pretend not to understand that last complaint.

"You mean the Occlumency lessons, don't you? I always wondered why you stopped them. Harry said you told him he'd learned enough, but I knew that couldn't be right or he wouldn't still be having those dreams."

Black slits of suspicion surveyed her.

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" she asked.

"I used to store certain memories I didn't wish him to see in a Pensieve before every lesson. One night I was called away and returned to find him snooping in it," her husband said bitterly. He turned the book over again and laid it on the table.

Hermione paused a moment to take this in, her restless hands suddenly still.

"He what? How dare he? No wonder he didn't want to talk about it! Oh, you must have been furious!"

He stared at the teetering pile of books on the floor by his left foot.

"I threw a jar of dead cockroaches at his head and told him never to come back," he admitted.

She nodded emphatically. "He deserved it! I don't think I'd have restrained myself to one jar, in your place!"

She watched his hands unclench and wished she wasn't going to say something that brought the tightness back. His next words were a welcome distraction.

"Would you have slapped him across the face, as you did Draco once?"

"If I caught someone reading my diary, they'd get something longer-lasting than a slap. And a Pensieve's rather more private than a diary!" She paused and sighed. "Severus, You-Know-Who is an expert Legilimens, isn't he?"

His face was suddenly implacable as rock hurtling down a hillside.

"I'm. Not. Teaching him."

She forced herself to continue, "Just getting married wasn't enough to change your fate. It's all the changes that a marriage brings that make a difference. And I've been thinking what it could be, what is it that tips the scale. And I think it's this."

"You think entirely too much," he growled.

"But –"

"Teaching him is dangerous." His lips folded and tightened. "If the Dark Lord looked through his eyes at the wrong moment –"

"Not teaching him is more dangerous. Your secret's in his head for the taking!"

"He's no more willing to try again than I am to teach him. Not that he ever tried in the first place. Even Albus wouldn't ask me again." He jumped up and began pacing. Books fell to the floor unheeded. An ugly purple vein was pulsing in his temple and she could hear the grinding of his teeth.

"Albus has Harry's welfare most in mind. I have yours," she said bluntly. "I didn't marry you to bury you."

"I didn't ask you to marry me at all," he told her.

"No, but you accepted," she pointed out.

"I won't be mothered by a child! You're my wife, not my keeper!"

She blinked and blinked again but she couldn't stop tears burning their way out. A vicious scrub at her eyes and she tried again.

"Will you let the Dark Lord win just because you and Harry don't get on? Can't you just call it quits? What he did was wrong, it was shocking and I'm furious with him, but did he really see anything worse than you did in those lessons? Don't you think he'd have locked his memories away in a Pensieve, if he had one? Wouldn't he have done anything to keep them private?"

"Obviously not, as he neglected the one thing he could do, which was practise!" he said through gritted teeth.

"I only want to keep you alive." She couldn't seem to stop crying, though she rubbed and rubbed.

"I refuse to discuss this any further." And then he was gone, the door quivering from the force of his slam.


	9. Every Little Disagreement

EVERY LITTLE DISAGREEMENT

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewer, Bellegeste.**

Ron buttonholed her after lunch. He thought he was being very sneaky in waiting till her husband was deep in discussion with Professor Flitwick and then trailing her to a little-used corridor, but that was because he'd missed the exchange of glances and nod of tacit consent that preceded her leaving the Hall.

"He's hurting you already, isn't he? I told you this was a mistake. You look terrible!"

She might have exploded, but she was just so glad he was speaking to her again.

"That's because I've just survived my first Slytherin-Gryffindor Defence class, Ron," she said, her eyes on the corner around which a group of students might suddenly thunder. "And I'm about to have another."

_She'd talked about Dark Marks and Voldemort – they'd all squealed – and the Sorting Hat and unity between houses._

"_Courage is a defining factor of both your houses, courage and willingness to take action. But Gryffindors plunge in and Slytherins manoeuvre. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws can be just as brave, but they're more likely to follow than lead and they value other qualities more, loyalty and duty or logic and learning and individuality. We need all of you, heart Houses and head Houses, thinkers and doers, followers and leaders. This is the third year in a row that the Sorting Hat has sung of unity. It wouldn't be doing that for no reason."_

_Then she'd taught them Expelliarmus, a difficult spell for a first year but worth the effort – "Harry Potter tells me he's even used it against Voldemort. Listen carefully. Ex-pell-ee-AR-mus. Ex-pell-ee-AR-mus. Now, each of you say it as I point to you." – then paired them cross-house to practise spellwork on each other. Of course, the Jamison boy had tried to practise on her, but Severus had warned her to expect that and she'd been ready for him._

_She'd assigned punishment essays to three Gryffindors – Jamison was one of them – and two Slytherins and an "Appreciating the Other Houses" essay to the whole class. And now she had to do most of it again, this time with Rolanda instead of Minerva watching from the back of the classroom._

"What, both of them together? When did that start?" Ron asked. They'd never shared Defence classes with Slytherins before.

"Don't worry. It's only my classes. It's a time-tabling thing. I have to have some time free or I'll never be able to study for my N.E.W.T.s." _And it meant the other teachers needed to give up fewer hours to sitting in on her classes._

He grimaced. "You still have to study for your N.E.W.T.s? But you're a professor!"

She stared at him. Had he already forgotten her purchases the other day in Diagon Alley? Yes, probably. The other news must have pushed it out of his head.

"Assistant professor, Ron," she said. "I'm taking Potions, Charms and Transfiguration this year and then next year I'll do Defence, Runes and Arithmancy. It's all arranged."

_She'd argued that she should study Defence this year, since she was, after all, teaching it. Severus had retorted that the poor teaching of previous years left her needing the extra time to improve her skills before she tackled the demanding new syllabus. He'd won, but more because she didn't want to fight over a relatively trivial matter than because she was convinced. She didn't see why she should need any more time than the other seventh years._

"Very clever, Hermione, but you can't put me off that easily. You're changing the subject. What did Snape do to you last night to have you looking like this?" His fists were clenched and his ears were red.

"Ron, I don't think you want to hear what Severus and I do together at night," she said meaningly and let him take that as he would. He wasn't to know Severus had never so much as touched her except for that wedding kiss.

He went as pale as the day he'd belched slugs for hours in second year.

"Urgh, no thanks. But don't think I can't tell by now when you're trying to trick me. You must have cried for hours to have eyes that red."

_She had. Even with Crookshanks curling around her feet, she hadn't been able to stop the tears from crawling down her face .She might have been more comforted if he'd let her hug him on her lap, but he didn't like wet fur. She'd alienated all her friends and for what? An impossible, argumentative man who'd rather die than back down – literally._

"Look, you can't blame Severus for every little disagreement I have with him," she said. "It doesn't mean anything, really. You're my best friend and I've fought with you often enough _and_ you've made me cry sometimes."

He shifted from foot to foot and shrugged a bit.

"Only because you're so bossy all the time," he muttered.

"That's exactly what we were arguing about last night. Me being bossy."

_Severus had returned at around 2am,with his mouth grimly set and a tired look in his eyes. At sight of her, he'd checked and for a moment she'd thought he was going to walk out again, but he came into the room and closed the door quietly behind him._

"_You should be in bed," he told her._

"_So should you." She gulped as his brows lowered and added quickly, "I couldn't sleep." She sniffed inelegantly and looked into his face. "I can't help worrying, you know. Not after those dreams showed me exactly what could happen when you're gone."_

_He scowled down at her, standing so close she could have grabbed a handful of teaching robe and pulled him down beside her where she could wrap her arms around him and reassure herself with his living warmth. Luckily, he had no idea how close she was to doing just that._

"_I'll contrive to send you a message if I'm summoned," he promised. "I often patrol the corridors at night and you'll make yourself ill if you wait up for me every time."_

"_I thought it was my fault you stayed out so late," she said._

_His lips tightened and his eyes traced over the crowded bookshelf to her left, but he didn't answer._

"Was it about us?" Ron asked, scrutinising her with as much care as he'd usually give a Bludger. "Was he sniping on about Harry or something, like usual?"

Hermione forced a smile, saying, "Not as such, no. It was about classes."

"_I'm sorry. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important." She tried to smile. "It's not like I'm asking you to let Neville back in your class or give Gryffindor house points. You know I only brought it up because it's for your own benefit."_

"_I've managed my life without your interference until now. I believe I'm quite capable of deciding what's for my own benefit." _

"And who won?" Ron demanded.

"I did. He knew I was right and there was no more to be said."

"_I'm sorry," she whispered again. "I know you don't want to do it and I know you will, anyway."_

"_What makes you think I will?" He had picked up a book from the table and was turning it over and over. _

"_If you'd had a good enough reason against it, you'd have already given it."_

"I bet he said it anyway," Ron said.

"Not at all. He's been very polite to me ever since we got married, it's you lot he'll take his temper out on."

He hooked his fingers in his robe pockets and said, "Thanks for the warning. You know, Sirius said once that you can judge a man by how he treats his inferiors and what does that say about Snape?"

Her eyes kindled.

"What does that say about Sirius? At least my husband never tried to feed a classmate to a werewolf just for being a 'slimy, oily, greasy' person who snooped on him!"

"No, he tried to feed them to the Dementors!"

"Not until they started taunting him. He was only going to send them to Azkaban. And at least he had a proper reason! You can't blame him for thinking Sirius was a murderer and Professor Lupin was in cahoots. We did ourselves, at first," she said. "Besides, he didn't really do it, did he, when he had the chance? Harry and I saw what he did when he woke up and he didn't even try to call back the Dementors. He just put us all on stretchers, even Sirius, and took us back to the castle."

_He looked after us then, even when we thought we didn't want him to, and now it's my turn to do the same for him._

Ron eyed her with disfavour.

"Has he Imperiused you or something?" he asked.

"Honestly, Ron! Do I look Imperiused?"

"Well, you're defending him!" he complained.

She sttod up straighter and gave him a sceptical upwards look from under frowning brows.

"I've always defended him," she pointed out.

Ron hoisted his schoolbag back to his shoulder and grimaced at her.

"Yes, but at least you used to agree that he was a nasty git. Now, you seem to think he's the cat's whiskers."

Perhaps it was just as well that they both had to hurry away to classes before she could reply.

**A/N Hermione cries enough in canon that even self-absorbed Harry notices at least once, sometimes repeatedly, in every book. Usually her tears flow when she's afraid for a loved one's safety, detached from her support (friends), and/or aware that a problem is far too large for her ability. All of these apply in this story, and therefore she will cry (much) more often than some readers like. **

**I don't feel this is weakness on her part. If anything, I've made her stronger than in canon because I've given her an emotional honesty and willingness to make herself vulnerable that canon-Hermione lacks. Think of her spending years waiting for Ron to make a move, instead of making one herself; my Hermione rolls up her sleeves and tells her friends and her husband what needs to be said, and no matter how crushed by their response, picks herself up and seeks another way forward.**


	10. Cold Loathing

COLD LOATHING

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**Alerts, review notifications and PMs are not working, but reviews will be visible onsite. I will reply to all when the system unfreezes.**

Bent over the student samples of Ethereal Elixir handed in that lesson, Professor Snape waited as his seventh year class packed up. When the first pushed open the door to leave, he spoke.

"Potter, a word."

Harry Potter swung the bag back off his shoulder and glared at his teacher, who was turning a vial up to the light and shaking it dubiously. It was supposed to be violet and the consistency of thick cream. It looked more like plum jam.

It was a war between them still, as it had been the previous year. Harry wondered whether to clear his throat or attempt to leave as the greasy git set that vial aside, made a notation in his marking book, and picked up another. Being the first to make a sound would be a defeat, but outright disobedience would bring evenings of enforced silent scrubbing. That would be a defeat too.

Everyone else had left the room by the time Snape finally looked up, scowling, and paused to ward the room.

"Next week, I'll start teaching my wife Occlumency. She'd like you to join the lessons."

Harry stiffened, wishing he had a death-dealing Basilisk stare in his repertoire. Grimly, he shook his head.

"I haven't forgotten how our last attempt ended either," Snape said. "But your continued ignorance endangers the lives of every member of the Order, myself included."

Harry's lips curled in a nasty smile. Good.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Potter?" Snape drawled, his beady eyes looking over his antagonist with cold loathing. "Even though it means that Hermione and her defenceless parents would be tortured along with me. How many more friends do you intend to lose?"

Emerald eyes blazed in a white, set face. Harry's short-bitten nails cut into his palms, but he said nothing. The hateful voice continued.

"The Weasleys? Lupin? Miss Tonks?"

"Your fault … Sirius!" Harry snarled.

"Was it? Was I the one who didn't practise? Was I the disobedient fool who went further and further into a dream-vision he was told to ignore? Was I the one who rushed off into a trap instead of trusting an Order member to take care of it? Who was it that almost got your friends killed, Mr Potter? Which of the two of us bears that responsibility?"

Harry's eyes didn't fall, but his lip trembled.

"You'd never helped us before," he said.

"You never asked for my help – or wanted it."

Harry leaned forward with clenched fists and accusing eyes.

"That's not true! What about in fourth year, when I told you I needed Dumbledore and you wouldn't fetch him? And by the time we got back to Mr Crouch, he'd been killed and Transfigured away."

The Potions master's eyes narrowed with the effort of recollection.

"What are you gabbling about? I knew Dumbledore would be out in a moment. I was hardly going to explain to a student that he'd stopped to use the facilities."

Harry stared at him.

"How was I supposed to know that? I thought you were just playing silly-bu …" He folded his lips and hunched his shoulders. "I did try to tell you in Umbridge's office. You didn't give any sign you understood."

"Perhaps you just didn't have the brain to recognise it," the other sneered.

Harry cast his mind back. All he could remember was Snape telling him he was shouting nonsense, then telling Crabbe not to hold Neville so tight that he choked him because he didn't want the paperwork, then leaving. Wait –telling a Slytherin not to hurt a Gryffindor? Oh.

"I'll think about it," he muttered.

"Respect, Potter. You call me sir or professor."

"_Sir_." Harry bit off the word savagely and picked up his bag.

"You have until next week," Snape said. "We'll expect you in my office on Monday night at eight." He removed the wards and picked up another vial. The potion had separated into gluggy orange clumps in a muddy liquid.

"D, of course," he muttered, his lips curling. "You forgot to turn down the heat after adding the wintergreen, Potter. Perhaps I should schedule you for Remedial Potions as well. You'd have ample time if you gave up Quidditch."

Harry gritted his teeth, reminded himself that it was an empty threat, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Harry fumed all day, avoiding even Ron. As curfew approached, he slipped out in his Invisibility Cloak and wandered the halls till he was sure they'd all be asleep. It wasn't until next morning's breakfast, therefore, that he became aware he was not the only Gryffindor to have had an interview with Snape that day.

"He said _what_?"

Neville ducked his head, pushing a bite of oozing fried egg around his plate as Harry stared at him.

"He said he might let me join his class again. If I spend all week brewing sixth year potions with Malfoy and don't melt any cauldrons and continue after that twice a week for the rest of the year, he'll take me on probation. Because I'm okay at Herbology and there's lots of it in Potions and he said something about general improvement and showing the brains Professor Sprout always insisted I must possess."

"He was having you on. You know he doesn't take anyone who got less than O in their O.W.L.s," Harry said.

"This is Snape, Harry, not Ron's brothers. He's not exactly a joker, is he?" Neville glanced up briefly from his plate. "He asked if he was still my Boggart and I said, 'no', of course, because he's not half as scary as Bellatrix, and he said he'd see if growing a backbone made me any less abysmal." He attempted, without much success, to reproduce Snape's sneer on the last word.

"But why? He loathes you almost as much as he does me."

"That's easy," Dean cut in. "I bet it was Hermione. Ron says Hermione's already bossing Snape around. She told him so yesterday."

Harry shook his head, his forehead and lips puckered in disbelief. Snape hated Hermione, he always had. Just because they were married, didn't mean he'd be any nicer to her. Where was Ron anyway? He looked around the Hall and saw him near the door, chatting up Hannah Abbott.

Lavender laughed, a silvery, malicious tinkle.

"She's got what Snape wants, doesn't she? And I bet he never thought he'd find such a willing – partner."

"I suppose she must have been crushing on him for years," Parvati said. "She was very secretive though. We never guessed it."

"We've always known she'd do just about anything for good marks," Lavender said. She hadn't forgiven Hermione for disapproving of her fling with Ron the previous year.

"Think he'll be in a better mood now he's getting some?" asked Dean, adding as his dorm-mate turned on him with fists raising. "Hey, no offence, Harry. They can do what they want, can't they? They're married."

Harry's stomach clenched in a tight, hard knot. He didn't even want to think about that, let alone talk about it. It wasn't right. It just wasn't. Hermione and that – that greasy, slimy, foul, sarcastic git. He changed the subject.

"Malfoy wouldn't help you," he told Neville. "He hates us."

Neville shrugged and looked across at the Slytherin table. Malfoy made no pretence of not watching them. He winked and smirked. The knot in Harry's stomach clenched tighter.

"He said maybe he was kissing up to the teachers like a good Slytherin should," Neville said doubtfully.

"Hah! There are no good Slytherins."

Surprisingly, Neville blushed.

"I said something like that too. And he went all stiff and polite, like he did last year, and said he could see it was going to be so nice working with me, he could hardly wait."

"Don't do it, mate," Ron said, arriving at the table and plopping himself down next to Harry. "It's a trick, isn't it? It has to be."

"A trick?" Neville said.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it all night and I think I have it figured. They're trying to infiltrate us, and then, as soon as we let down our guard – _wham_! They'll turn on us and hand us over to the enemy. Think about it! Why else would Snape want to marry Hermione? He sure as heck never liked her."

Harry nodded emphatically. Now someone was talking sense. A post owl dropped his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on his toast, scattering the slices. He fumbled in his pocket for a few Knuts.

"Oh, for Circe's sake, Ron, give it a rest." A few seats down, Ginny had caught the tail end of the conversation. "Snape's not going to hand Hermione or any of us over to Voldemort. Don't you think Dumbledore's had sixteen years to figure out whose side he's on? And don't start talking about evil Defence teachers! None of them lasted a year."

"But Snape hates Hermione. He laughed at her teeth that time Malfoy hexed them." Ron pointed his buttered roll at her, then took a big bite.

"People change." Ginny tossed her hair back from her face to glare at him. "She told me you used to call her a nightmare, but that didn't stop you becoming friends. If it doesn't bother Hermione that he used to dislike her, it shouldn't bother you. He must care a bit if he's all right with her staying friends with us. And he is; he told me so when I asked him." She grinned reminiscently. "Actually, he said he's not her keeper and why did I expect him to be?"

Harry's mouth fell open, his rolled-up paper loose in his hand. Was everyone cosying up to the greasy git now?

"You asked him? When?" he demanded, dismissing the rest. It was obvious someone must have Confunded her.

"After class yesterday. He said we should have afternoon tea with her on Sundays, because she can take a break then for a few hours, instead of trying to buttonhole her between classes, when she's preoccupied."

"Will he be there too?" Neville asked doubtfully.

Ginny laughed till she coughed.

"You don't think he _wants_ to spend time with us, do you?"

Shaken, Harry retreated to his paper. It wasn't likely to be any more sane than his companions, but surely it couldn't be worse. He unrolled it to the front page and gasped. Under a banner headline was an unflattering picture of Hermione from surely two or three years ago, her bush of hair blowing as if in a high wind. Beside it was a distant view of a thin man in black with lank hair, his back to the camera.

SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

_Notorious heartbreaker Hermione Granger, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent,_ who at fourteen flirted and fled both Harry Potter and Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum, has added another scalp to her list. But this time it seems the audacious teen has been caught in her own honey-trap. It won't be so easy to leave a husband behind, especially one with such a nose for poisons. _

_In a suspiciously hasty marriage, the tear-away teen and her teacher, Hogwarts Potions master and head of Slytherin, Professor Severus Snape, tied the knot in a private ceremony barely days before the start of the school year, allegedly to allow the unqualified teen to apply for a post as Hogwarts Defence Against Dark Arts teacher. It will surprise no one familiar with his previous history of eccentric appointments that this was apparently with the foreknowledge and consent of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. _

_Harder to explain is the Ministry's apparent stamp of approval on this very peculiar match..._

Wordlessly, he handed it to Ron, who read it, dropped it as if it burnt his fingers, then picked it up and began crumpling it into a ball.

"What?" said Ginny, watching him. He shook his head, waving vaguely in the direction of the Head Table, and crumpled harder. "What is it? Is it about Hermione?" She leaned past Colin and Dean and grabbed it from her brother's hands, smoothing it out carefully.

"Hermione is going to _kill_ Rita," Ron said with conviction.

**A/N Ethereal Elixir is not canon. The suggestion that Snape was fobbing Harry off because Dumbledore was in the loo first came from Whitehound. It fits well with Dumbledore's rapid appearance, but cannot be proven. The message in Snape's warning to Crabbe is also not my original thought, but I don't know whom to credit.**

**Hermione was, of course, fifteen when she met Viktor, but Rita's always been rather careless with the truth.**


	11. The First Rule of Blackmail

11. THE FIRST RULE OF BLACKMAIL

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Heedless of watching eyes or listening ears, Hermione dropped her spoon of oatmeal and glared at the article as if she could set it on fire with her eyes.

"I'll kill her!" she muttered. "I'll transfigure her into a plate and smash her."

Her husband looked up from his plate and plucked the paper from her hands.

"Dear me," he said, scanning it with raised brows and returning it to her. Her hands clenched around it. Pomona Sprout, who had peered over his shoulder, turned to her other neighbour to spread the news. "What did you do to upset Miss Skeeter?"

Hermione didn't even bother trying to deny she, not he, was the cause of the reporter's vitriol. Her glare didn't even dent his smirk so she leaned closer to hiss in his ear.

"She's an unregistered Animagus. I caught her when she was a beetle and kept her in a jam-jar the summer after fourth year to teach her a lesson."

He pursed his lips and cast a surreptitious privacy spell before answering. She flushed at the unspoken reminder that whispering was not a sufficient protection against eavesdroppers.

"I see. You chose to confront her and rub her nose in your triumph. How very Gryffindor of you," he said. "I imagine you thought you were so very clever."

She grimaced.

"A pity you never received any training in cunning from a Slytherin," he went on. "The first rule of blackmail is not to incriminate yourself. No doubt she's realised that you can't turn her in now without facing a charge of aiding and abetting her for the last two years. You'd have been safer to turn her in at the time, at least to Albus, if not to the Ministry."

"I know that now," she grumbled, "but I thought she might be useful later. And she was. We got her to write that article for the Quibbler about Voldemort's return."

He considered this as he ate his second slice of jam toast. Hermione smoothed out the crumpled newspaper with hard, angry strokes.

"I'm not convinced it was worth it," he said, at last. "The Quibbler would have published a self-penned account as readily and any small credibility you might have gained from her notoriety is outweighed by the damage her enmity may produce. Unfortunately, attempts to mix revenge with strategising very rarely work. If your goal was ensuring her future cooperation, you'd have been wiser not to antagonise her. I'm afraid you've made rather a bad enemy for us."

She stared at him, the newspaper forgotten.

"For – for us?"

He gave her that "You idiot" look again. She couldn't decide whether to be offended by the reproof or warmed by the reassurance that they were in this together.

"I suppose you told your friends about it too. Dare I hope you took precautions not to be overheard?"

She bit her lip.

"We were on the train home," she admitted, flushing and hanging her head. "I don't _think_ we were heard."

He raised an eyebrow.

"What's done can't be undone. I can only hope you've learned your lesson." He shook his head, letting out his breath slowly. "I wouldn't recommend turning her in now. She'd know it was you and bring you down too out of spite. Still, the situation may not be completely lost. Can she prove that you knew? You didn't keep her jar in a room she could positively identify, I hope? Or anywhere that she could watch you or others disrobe and remark any distinguishing features?"

Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"I'm not that stupid!" she protested. "Certainly not stupid enough to put on a strip show for a reporter!" She watched his lip curl in preparation for a devastating sneer and hastily added, blushing scarlet, "Or – or anyone."

His cheeks were pink too. He reached for the toast-rack and took another slice.

"I should hope not," he said.

She watched his hands, long-fingered, blue-veined and graceful, as they scraped a thin layer of butter and then a dollop of strawberry jam across toast, and remembered again the roughness of his calluses against her skin. That was the only time she'd ever touched him and he'd never touched her. You couldn't call that brush of the lips at their wedding a touch. Her hands clasped together in her lap. There didn't seem to be anything to say.

Filius's arrival was a distraction. He'd been talking to someone at the Slytherin table, a fact that he explained by giving her a small but exquisite silver and enamel box.

"A bride-gift from young Mr Malfoy, so I'm told," he said. "He thought you'd prefer me to check it over first. It was quite straightforward, not like Mr Potter's Firebolt in your third year. I looked it over yesterday and it seems to be clear of all hexes, jinxes and curses. I endeavoured to return it so he could present it himself, but he thought you'd rather have it straight from me."

"Thank you." Hermione turned the box around to admire the design. Red roses and green leaves; it was quite beautiful. She glanced across to the Slytherin table where Draco was watching her and forced a smile as he nodded and turned up one hand, palm upwards. She turned back to her colleague. "I don't know how you found the time to do it so quickly."

She'd never considered the teachers' timetables until she became one, but they were horrendously overworked. A base of almost fifty hours a week in the classroom for those teaching compulsory subjects, plus marking, supervising detentions, patrolling the halls and, of course, Head of House duties for the colleagues she was working most closely with – and Filius had had all the extra first-day tasks to manage as well.

Filius smiled and demurred, "I had no marking yet, so it was no trouble." He continued on to his seat.

She couldn't delay any longer. Severus and Draco were both watching her expectantly. Opening the box, she gasped. Nestled inside was a pair of silver fob watches, studded with either rubies or emeralds, each with one silver hand. Like a smaller version of Mrs Weasley's kitchen clock, they had words instead of numbers: class, home, patrolling, travelling, danger, mortal peril. She lifted a glowing face to her husband.

"They're exactly what I want. How did he know?"

How much she'd wanted some way of knowing, two nights ago, that Severus was safe somewhere in the school, that those dream-visions had not become horrifying reality. She couldn't forget that the prophecy had said "may", not "will"; their union offered hope, not promises.

"I imagine he could guess. He knows a little more of my life than the average student." He lifted out the emerald-studded watch and placed it in his pocket. "A very suitable gift. I hope you mean to acknowledge it appropriately."

"Yes, I must, of course." She looked up to find that the giver had stood up and was moving languidly towards her. She chewed on her lip as she watched. He was straight-backed and unsmiling and she couldn't help remembering how much he'd always disliked her.

"I hope you will accept this small token, godmother, godfather," he said politely, again giving her the courtesy title she hadn't really earned, his eyes on her hands instead of her face. "And please forgive its lateness. The notice of your nuptials was too short to have it ready earlier."

"It's magnificent, Draco. You couldn't have made a better choice."

He didn't smile back.

"You can key in extra people, if you want. Right now they're just set for each other. It's not very hard. Professor Flitwick can show you." He swept a bow and turned away and she realised he hadn't looked at his godfather either. Her eyes turned from his unyielding back to the vertical crease between her husband's eyebrows.

"He's angry with you," she exclaimed. "Why? Because you married me?"

Severus scowled, his eyes following Draco out of the Hall.

"He is grieving. The reasons are none of your business."

"He always hated me," she said. "I suppose he resents you for marrying a Muggle-born."

"For marrying one of the people who helped put a greatly-loved parent in Azkaban? Would that not be enough on its own to explain it?"

Her hand tightened around the box, where a silver fob lay without its partner.

"It's hardly my fault if his dad's a criminal!" she cried.

"None of his reasons for grieving are your fault." He pulled out his fob and stared down at it cradled in one pale hand. His lips tightened. "I've known Draco since he was born. He will treat you with all the consideration and respect due my wife and he will protect you, if necessary, in my stead. That is as much and more than anyone could reasonably expect."

Her eyes prickled at the cold distance in his voice and her head drooped.

"I understand."

"No," he said. "You don't." She heard in his voice his unspoken thought. _And you never will._

**A/N Face-to-face teaching hours are based on Whitehound's calculations of one single and one double forty-five minute period a week per class, with each house in years 1-5 taught separately (as they seem to be in canon).**

**In canon, witches or wizards don't seem to go to church. I've therefore chosen to use the title of "godparent" fairly loosely, not in the strict religious sense.**


	12. Permission to Enter

PERMISSION TO ENTER

D**isclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewer, Bellegeste, for the comments and the great last line.**

"You may enter." It was Professor Snape's voice.

Neville turned to Ginny with an accusing eye. He might not be afraid of the man any more, but that didn't mean he wanted to take tea with him.

"I thought you said he wouldn't be here when we came."

She shook her head and shrugged.

"I didn't think he would. Unless he wants to show her he can play nice." She grinned. "That I'd like to see. Wouldn't you?"

"About as much as I want to see a Manticore crooning," he grumbled. Everyone knew they only did that while devouring prey. "And Snape playing sounds a bit too much like crooning Manticores, if you ask me."

The door opened before Ginny could reply.

"Have you added deafness to your other incapacities, Mr Longbottom, Miss Weasley?" Professor Snape said. "I gave you permission to enter."

"So much for playing nice!" muttered Ginny under her breath, hiding a smirk. "Sorry, sir. I hope this time is still convenient?" she asked.

"Your punctuality is adequate." He stood aside to let them in and turned to the room's other occupant. "We'll finish this after dinner. Your friends are here for afternoon tea."

He didn't wait for an answer. Hermione stared after him.

"Did he arrange for you to visit? That was sweet of him," she said, after a moment, recalling her guests, who had remained standing just inside the door. Neville choked.

"I dare you to tell him so," Ginny said, laughing.

Hermione shook her head though her lips twitched.

"Now, what kind of thank you would that be? Besides, he'd know you put me up to it and he might get cranky enough to put you in detention." She pushed her husband's empty chair towards Neville as Ginny took the closer one. "Are you sure it's worth it?"

"Not if it makes him cranky with you," Ginny said. "So, how's married life treating you? You look a bit tired."

Hermione yawned.

"I am a bit. Don't ever become a teacher, you two. You have no idea how hard they work. I always thought I kept long hours with my study schedule, but I didn't know the half of it." She tidied her parchments away to a corner of her desk as she spoke. "And Severus works much harder than I do. He gets up before five every morning to start brewing and he never stops working till well after midnight." She looked around the room and her smile wavered. "Did Harry and Ron not want to come or did he not invite them?"

Neville and Ginny exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"They might come later," Neville said. "They were working on their Transfiguration essays when we left."

"I see." Hermione sighed, adding in a different voice, "Afternoon tea for three, please."

Instantly, her desk was laid with plates of seed-cake, scones and finger buns, a pot of tea and a jug of pumpkin juice. Cups and saucers and tall tumblers followed a moment later. She grimaced a little.

"I still feel bad getting the house-elves to do things for me," she admitted, "but I really don't have the time and they're always so eager." She waved her hand over the food, wordlessly inviting them to tuck in.

"No more Spew?" Neville asked, picking up a split scone and smothering it with blackcurrant jam.

"That's S.P.E.W.," Hermione told him, with a scowl that quickly turned into another sigh. "No, not any more. Minerva persuaded Griggy to talk to me. He's the oldest of the Hogwarts elves and he made me feel completely stupid. Do you know the other elves were afraid to clean Gryffindor tower when I was leaving out those hats for them and Dobby had to do the lot? I had to promise not to do it again before any of them would agree to serve me as a staff member."

Her cheeks were hot, remembering it. After the easy welcome she'd had from most of the teachers – except Sybill, who'd predictably prophesied disaster of a particularly gruesome kind, and, more surprisingly, Verena Vector, who'd been rather distantly polite – she hadn't expected a house-elf revolt. Severus had been mercifully silent about it, but she suspected he was only saving his pithy comments for a less fraught occasion.

"We did all tell you at the time," Ginny apologised, through a mouthful of seed-cake. "House-elves like to serve; it's what they're born for."

"Just because they were born into slavery doesn't make it right!" Hermione grumbled, pouring herself a cup of sweet milky tea.

"But maybe forcing them into independence when they don't want it and aren't ready for it isn't right either," Neville said. "It's like forcing a baby bird out of the nest before it's strong enough to fly. It will only fall to the ground and die there." His round cheerful face grew solemn. "That's why I did so badly in Snape's – sorry, I mean Professor Snape's lessons. I was afraid to be magical. Gran and all my family were trying to force me to be, so I could follow in my dad's footsteps, but all I understood about Dad's footsteps was that they'd led him and Mum to St Mungo's in the end. And I didn't want that."

"But it was Severus you were afraid of. He was your Boggart in third year," Hermione objected.

"That were right silly, weren't it?" Neville said, lapsing into the speech patterns of his early childhood for one careless moment. "When me own great-uncle Algie, the one as bought me toad, used to drop me off piers and out t' window to force me magic out." He recollected himself and blushingly continued, "Professor Snape never laid a finger on me and never would, I suppose."

"He threatened to poison Trevor though," Hermione pointed out, crumbling a scone between fidgety fingers. Ginny took another slice of cake, her bright eyes watching the crumbs fall on her friend's plate.

"Like I said, trying to force me on when I wasn't ready. Looking back on it though, I bet he had the antidote handy. He unshrunk Trevor quickly enough, didn't he?" He smiled warmly at her. "I haven't thanked you yet."

"Thanked me?"

"I thought I'd lost my chance to study N.E.W.T. Potions. Discovered too late that I really did want to do it and couldn't catch up the work."

Hermione nodded. Yes, she knew that.

"You could have knocked me down with a feather when he called me in last Monday and offered me another chance. Course I have to work with Malfoy all year, but it's worth it. And with you teaching, I suppose Malfoy is the best student left in the class."

"Another chance? He's let you back in the class?" Hermione demanded, her eyes wide.

"Yes." Neville stared at her. "Wasn't it you asked him? I quite thought it must be."

_It's not like I'm asking you to let Neville back in your class or give Gryffindor house points._

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it was. He never said he was going to, though. I didn't think he really would."

She ought to be happy, but there was a queer icy tendril curling around her heart. It wasn't like him. He'd stormed off over teaching Harry Occlumency yet taken Neville back in his class without even a fight? After she'd told him she _wouldn't_ fight? Marriage – even gratitude – couldn't have changed him this much. There must be a reason and whatever it was she was sure it wasn't going to be one she'd like.

A loud staccato at the door distracted her from her whirling thoughts.

"Come in," she said and Harry and Ron sidled in, looking rather shame-faced.

"Oh, you did come," she exclaimed with a huge smile.

"Of course we did!" Ron said, his eyes sliding away from hers guiltily. She didn't call him on it. It was enough that he'd come. And Harry with him. They might not have completely forgiven her, but now she knew it would be all right.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was no good. She couldn't just leave it there. She put down her quill – the third year Charms essays could wait – and turned to her husband, who was also grading, although with considerably greater efficiency. He marked five in the time it took her to do one. She supposed drearily that she'd get the knack after a few weeks practice, but that wasn't important now.

"Severus!"

"Hmm?" He was scowling ferociously as he scratched out whole sections of an essay.

"Severus! Neville told me something today that surprised me very much."

He glanced sideways at her.

"Nothing that boy could do would surprise me," he said sourly.

He was fobbing her off. Her heart sank.

"It wasn't something he'd done. It was something you'd done." She paused, but he was bent over the same essay, no doubt scribbling some particularly vicious comment about the author's brain capacity. "He says you've taken him back into your class."

"And?" He put down the just-marked essay and picked up another.

"You did, didn't you? Why?" She looked down at her pile of essays then back at her husband. He wasn't looking at her. "Was it because I asked you?"

"As I recall, you didn't ask me."

She bit her lip.

"Not in so many words, no. But I brought it up. And then you invited him back the very next day and I don't believe it was coincidence. It wasn't, was it?"

His hand stilled.

"No, it wasn't," he said.

"Why did you?"

"Surely you're going to answer that question yourself too."

"Please don't be sarcastic with me. I want to know."

Of course, I must give you whatever you want, mustn't I?" he sneered.

_I always mean what I say, on one level or another, unless certain considerations interfere, _he'd said. Was this one of those times? She gulped as she stared at him, a crazy and horrible suspicion growing in her mind.

"Yes, you must, mustn't you?" But she wasn't joking. Her fist pressed against her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, what have I done?"

"What do you imagine you've done?"

He wasn't marking papers now. Her eyes, prickling with horrified tears, met his opaque glare.

"I thought I was saving you, not enslaving you!" she cried. She'd known since first year how seriously he took a life-debt, but she hadn't thought! She hadn't known! How could she be so stupid?

"The two are not mutually exclusive, you know," he pointed out calmly.

"Then it's true! Whatever I ask, whatever silly little random idea pops into my head – You'll do it. All of it. Even give points to Gryffindor, just because I mentioned it in passing!"

"Would you rather I don't? I shall be quite pleased to oblige."

She felt sick.

"Of course I'd rather you didn't! Not if it's just because you feel obliged. I don't need that! I don't _want_ it!"

He shrugged.

"Perhaps you should have thought harder about the consequences of your actions," he said.

"Perhaps you should have told me what they were!" she said, dashing her hand across her eyes.

"Would that have changed your mind?" he asked. "No? Then you can hardly blame me for not drawing your attention to a fact I certainly didn't wish you to know." He picked up another essay. "You'd better return to your marking or you'll be up all night. Unless, perchance, you wish me to do it for you?"

She flinched at his snide tone. She'd never wanted a slave; not even a house elf and certainly not him. And now she had both.

**A/N "Griggy … the oldest Hogwarts elf" and Verena as Professor Vector's name are not canon.**


	13. Obligations

OBLIGATIONS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

**A few explanatory words on life-debts, since so many asked:  
Canon is both vague and inconsistent about life-debts. People charge around saving each other, but life-debts are mentioned in two instances only, where a Potter saves an enemy somewhere in the region of the Shack from a Sirius-Remus threat. But all the other circumstances don't match up (including the definition of enemy.) ****My take in this story is that, whether or not Snape has incurred a magical debt, he now _feels_ an obligation to repay her in full measure for her choice to save and, since she's offered her entire future life (and years of living) for his sake, he _feels_ he must do the same for hers.**

Severus turned from his brewing as the door opened, glanced at his wife and turned back.

"You're up very early," he said.

Hermione stared dully at his rigid back and damp, slick hair. She'd sometimes wondered whether the grease was caused by an over-oily scalp or daily application of Wet-Wash Potioneers' Anti-Potion Lotion, but she had more important things on her mind today.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained.

He added two pinches of something she wasn't close enough to identify and spoke without turning.

"No doubt that explains the white face and pink eyes. I can give you a headache potion, but for anything worse you'll have to see Poppy." He counted ten stirs and added another pinch.

She swallowed hard and closed the door behind her.

"I'm not sick. I'm just upset," she began. "I don't know what to do."

"I told you you'd come to regret our marriage."

She bit her lip. That wasn't a good start. She walked forward to stand at his elbow.

"I don't regret it! If I have to be miserable the rest of my life, I'd still rather have you alive than dead!"

He scowled briefly down at her, then picked up a half-handful of chopped daisy-roots and dropped them in one at a time. The potion turned green and a light mist began to rise, dissipating as he stirred five times clockwise and half a stir back. He repeated the process and selected two rat's tails from the jar at his left.

"There's no need to be melodramatic."

"I'm not," she said in a low voice, watching him slice the tails into half-inch segments. "I've been thinking about it all night and I mean every word. Even if you never say another pleasant word to me for the rest of our lives, I'd rather that than this – this obligatory kindness! I'd rather have no favours at all than wonder every time whether there was anything real behind them."

"Are you ordering me to deny my obligations?" The pieces made popping noises as he added them. The potion was gradually deepening to blue.

"I'm not ordering; I'm asking. Please, Severus. Don't be obedient around me; be yourself."

"Be myself?" he spat. "_I_ do not deny obligations."

Hermione took a long inward breath and let it out slowly.

"Must you be so difficult?" she muttered and immediately regretted it. "Sorry, I mean – I didn't mean that. It's just, why does everything about this always have to be so hard?"

He doused the fire under the cauldron and began to clean up.

"Did you think our characters would magically change when we slipped rings on each other's fingers? Even had we married out of affection rather than necessity, learning to live together is a troublesome task."

Blinking away the prickle in her eyelids, she stared at his capable, efficient hands checking the seal of jars and sluicing his cutting board under the tap.

"Is that how you think of me? A troublesome task?"

He shot her a tight-lipped, heavy-browed look.

"When you write an essay, do you expect every word to fall into place immediately? Do you expect the first book you read to have all the information and the first draft of your work to be perfect? Why would you think that marriage would be any easier?" He let out a heavy breath. "You're such a very Gryffindor child."

"And you hate Gryffindors," she supplied, choking back a sob. She wasn't a child. She wasn't.

"There are very few people that I hate and you are not one of them," he said flatly. "Please spare me the histrionics and make up your mind what you want from me. You don't like it when I strive to oblige you; you don't like it when I don't. What do you want?"

She followed him to the store cupboard, rubbing her nose, which was showing an alarming inclination to drip.

"I want you to be happy," she muttered. "I want you to be safe and well and free." _I want you to like me._

He snorted. His hand paused over the selection of a jar, then he picked it up and collected another from two shelves away.

"Marriage and freedom assort oddly together. Think again."

"I want you to be as free as marriage allows, then," she said. "I want to have made an improvement in your life, not another hardship."

He looked at her over his shoulder and she made an effort to meet his eyes, conscious that her own were red and sore. Unexpectedly, his face softened.

"Never doubt it," he said.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I'm here," Harry said as he entered the Potions master's office, pausing just long enough to be offensive before adding, "sir."

He glanced over at Hermione, seated beside Snape and still holding the roll of parchment they'd apparently been reading together, and jerked a nod. He turned away as she smiled in welcome, but from the corner of his eye he saw her face fall, as if it was he that had broken their friendship and not her. Then her eyes slid back to the greasy git she'd married and her face brightened as if she actually liked looking at him. She'd done the same repeatedly at lunch and dinner that day. It gave Harry the creeps.

"Sit down, Potter, and take that mulish look off your face," Snape told him. "I trust that you now understand the importance of learning to occlude your mind and that my time will not be wasted again. What do you remember of your previous studies?"

Harry sat, his clenched fists on his knees. He shot Hermione an accusing glare, but she only shrugged apologetically.

"Occlumency is a way of protecting your mind against evil wizards who want to get into it. _Sir_."

"Poorly expressed, but not completely incorrect, although I'm rather surprised to hear you characterise Professor Dumbledore as an evil wizard. You must surely know that he is an accomplished Legilimens. For that matter, you yourself may have some natural ability in that direction," Snape said.

Harry looked him over out of the corner of narrowed eyes.

"You told me I was weak. You said I was easy prey."

"And so you will remain until you put some effort into learning skills that should be well within your power. You cast off Imperius in fourth year; you must surely be able to recognise and eject an intruder if you bothered to try." He gave Harry a hard look. "You followed me back into my head once, using a Protego charm. Why did you never try it again?"

Harry blinked. He'd never given that another thought. At his next Occlumency attempt a minute later, he'd broken through the Department of Mysteries door for the first time and then Professor Trelawney's shriek had interrupted them. They'd rushed to the Hall and seen the face-off between Umbridge and Dumbledore, and who could think of Occlumency after that? It was a hard enough thing to think about, even without distractions.

Snape scowled.

"As pleasant as it is to see your blank expression and gaping mouth in every lesson, perhaps we could move on. I suppose it's too much to hope that you've ever given another thought to the advice I repeatedly gave to clear your mind of all emotions each night before sleeping?"

Harry scowled back. He hadn't missed Hermione's look of reproach at the old bat, but what did she expect, marrying someone like that? _Bet he gets her to do that every night too, so she doesn't gag when he gets too close,_ he thought spitefully

"I'm not completely stupid! Of course I have, ever since – ever since someone actually bothered to tell me why it was important," he continued lamely. He waited for a jibe about Sirius that never came.

"Very well. Then we will begin by testing whether you've made any progress in a year and a half. Stand up, Potter."

"Severus? Is the standing necessary?" Hermione asked.

Harry waited for the sarcastic come-back, but Snape's voice was barely even exasperated as he said, "I have to look in his eyes. Standing makes that easier."

"But you could both sit, couldn't you? And then Harry would be less likely to get hurt if he fails."

That was unusual, Hermione arguing with a teacher. But then, she was a teacher herself now.

"He survived three months worth of lessons in fifth year without sustaining serious injury. You may sit, however, if you prefer."

"But –"

"No, Hermione. He will stand. Unless you think the Dark Lord will offer him a seat?"

"He hasn't yet," Harry muttered, receiving another scowl from the git.

"If you're quite ready, Potter. One, two, three, _Legilimens_."

A foggy silver cloud whooshed from the tip of Harry's wand as Lupin watched … Aunt Petunia stirred a large metal tub of rags in the sink … Moaning Myrtle floated, giggling in front of him as his breath came out in a bubble … Harry sat shivering on the roof of his primary school … Ron was swilling the dregs of a teacup then lifting it to his mouth … Ginny was helping herself to a bit of his Easter egg in the library … _No! Not Ginny! Get out! _

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them to the dingy Potions office and a familiar large, hooked nose.

"Better," Snape allowed sourly. "You threw me out in the end, but you let me in too far. Try to stop me entering next time. What did you notice about our first attempt, Hermione?"

Harry stared at her, then at her husband, then back at her. He'd known Snape was only trying to humiliate him, this time by getting his friend to criticise his failures. His throat burned as he wondered whether she'd known her husband's plans. _Next time, I suppose it will be ruddy Malfoy looking on! _

"He couldn't seem to look away," Hermione was saying. "I saw a – a fluttering of his eye-muscles, as if he was trying to move them but couldn't. And then, just before he cast you out, I can't explain it but his face seemed to change …"

Snape was tracing his mouth with his forefinger. It sickened Harry to see how eagerly Hermione's eyes were following the progress of that long, pale claw.

"Indeed. In most cases, eye contact is key to the practice of Legilimency so be wary of looking in the eyes of an enemy or doubtful ally. Since avoidance is not always possible, however, we'll move immediately to the next step, recognising that your mind is under attack. Until you eject me, you will see whatever I choose to look at and it may seem to you that you are merely lost in memories. You must repel me in any way you can, if not by force of mind, then through wand-work or even physical force. Are you ready, Hermione? Will you sit or stand?"

Hermione took a firm grip on her wand as she stood up to face him.

"The Dark Lord isn't likely to offer me a seat, either, is he?" she said, with a half-laugh.

"He is unlikely ever to get near enough to Legilimise you, if you'll only act with a little more discretion than you've used in the past. Very well. One, two, three, _Legilimens_."

Harry's hand clenched on his wand as he watched Hermione stare into the git's eyes. It was strange seeing the spell worked on someone else. Yes, there was the flutteriness of her eyes, like a bird stuck in treacle. She was turning pale now, looking scared. He glanced at Snape just in time to see him break the bond, anger flashing in his eyes and thinning his mouth.

"So that was you," Snape said slowly. "You were part of that disgraceful display."

"Hermione?" Harry whispered. She gave him an anguished, guilty glance and mouthed, "Polyjuice."

Harry sucked in a breath, wondering whether Snape had seen her brewing it in the toilets or worse, stealing the ingredients from his office.

"Don't blame Harry. It was all my idea to steal it," faltered Hermione, putting out a trembling hand, which only made the git's eyes flash more.

"I've known about your thieving since you turned up furry in the hospital wing," he said dismissively. "What I didn't know, until seeing your glance at Potter as you returned to the classroom, was when and how. Whose idea was it to throw fireworks in class?"

Hermione moistened her lips twice, her eyes darting wildly between the two men. Harry opened his mouth to take the blame, wondering where he'd go when he was expelled, but she cut in before he could speak.

"I asked the boys to create a diversion. It's my responsibility."

"I expected better of you, Hermione. That was very dangerous mischief indeed." Snape hissed.

Harry's lips pulled away from his teeth in a grimace of disbelief. That was all? No tantrums, no yelling, no threats of retribution?

"I'm sorry." His friend blinked repeatedly as she stared at the stone floor. "We were trying to find the Heir of Slytherin before someone died," she pleaded.

"And you nearly killed half your classmates in the process! Idiot children! Tell me, Hermione, how long does it take for a neck to snap if a head grows too heavy? How long to choke to death from a throat too swollen to drink the antidote?"

"Um, I never –"

"You never thought about it? Think about it now! Both of you!" he added, rounding on Harry. "What if you'd missed the cauldron? Do you know what happens to anyone standing next to a firework that lands in a fire?"

Harry felt sick.

"It blows bits off them, sir," he muttered.

"Exactly. It blows bits off. Or blinds them, or sets their clothes on fire. If you'd blown Goyle's hand off, would you have cared? You seemed to find it funny at the time," Snape said bitingly. "_Never_ do such a thing again."

Harry couldn't believe he was going to leave it at that.

"You threatened to have the culprit expelled, if you ever found out who it was."

"If you are still unaware that you are the very last person Professor Dumbledore would ever dream of allowing to be expelled, you must be considerably more foolish than I've given you credit for."

"Is that even possible?" Harry sniped, before he could stop himself.

"Probably not, Potter. Probably not."

**A/N Fireworks contain less explosive charge than firecrackers, but even sparklers can cause severe injuries when handled carelessly. Proximity, careless handling and the presence of open fires make injuries more likely.**


	14. Shinny Sliver

SHINNY SLIVER

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewer, Bellegeste.**

Hermione paused over her grading, her eyes sliding to the door again. He still wasn't back. She'd known that he wouldn't be – the dial of her fob-watch had shown no change from "danger" since he'd left; it must be a euphemism for "meeting psychopathic homicidal maniac AKA Dark Lord" – but she couldn't help hoping. Her breath hitched and she sniffed, but she wouldn't let herself dwell. There was too much work to do and it wouldn't do itself. She looked again at the paper in front of her and shuddered.

_Wen the mach gos all shinny sliver its stating to tern innto a needdul. Then yu hav too chainje the shap to. _

Surely even Crabbe and Goyle were turning in better essays than that in first year! Although to be perfectly truthful, she'd sometimes wondered back then if either of them could even write, let alone spell.

_First mak wun end gow orl naro then mak a holl in the uthe end_

She marked a big red D at the top and dropped it with relief, then immediately picked it up again to make a note of the name in her marking book. Jackie Yeo. She stared at it blearily for a few moments. _Who? Was that a boy or a girl? Oh, the spiky-haired Hufflepuff who'd been Sorted last._ She should remember. She'd taught him for a week and a half now, if "taught" was the correct word. It didn't look as if he'd learned anything.

She shook her watch. It hadn't changed, but she looked at the door again. Severus still wasn't here. She bit down hard on her lower lip, hard enough to hurt. Her fists were clenching and she knew she should uncurl them, but they only curled tighter. An hour! He'd been gone an hour and no indication when he would be back.

She was an idiot! Why had it had never occurred to her to ask how long a Summoning to the Dark Lord usually lasted, when she knew he'd be called sooner or later? _But this is sooner. _She'd make sure to find out when – if – when he came back.

The next paper was better. Annette Lely had a grasp of the subject, at least, although her writing seemed to get larger with every line. _Acceptable._

She took the next paper and dropped it as the door swung suddenly open. Severus was there, looking tired and cross.

"You're all right!" She ran towards him and put out her hands towards him. Then she flushed and took a step back, her hands dropping.

"Of course I am. Have you worked yourself into a fit of hysterics already?" He looked her over, scowling. "You were braver before."

She swallowed. Silly to expect him to care that she'd been terrified for him.

"It's easier to be brave when I'm out there doing something than when I'm sitting at home waiting for someone else to return," she said. "I'm too busy to be scared, usually."

"I wasn't referring to the ridiculous scrapes you've repeatedly let yourself be dragged into over the course of the last six years." He took off his cloak and draped it over a laden chair, then stood there looking at it. "You weren't afraid to touch my hand two weeks ago, as I recall."

For a whole minute, she just gaped at his straight back, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

"You didn't seem to like it much. I thought you didn't want me to," she said at last.

He walked over to the furthest bookshelf and let his fingers wander along it at eye level. Two of the books were slightly disarranged. He pushed them back in.

"You were my student then. It was inappropriate," he said over his shoulder.

"Not under the circumstances, it wasn't," she retorted, one hand on her hip and the other clenched behind her. "I can't believe you! It was your idea to have separate bedrooms, not mine!" Not that she'd wanted to sleep with him, but she wasn't going to let him blame her for something he'd suggested.

He pulled out a large green book she'd looked up Reflecting Charms in three days earlier.He couldn't have read it before. Some of the pages were uncut.

"A very natural precaution. Do you wish to be reduced to tramping the corridors every time you want a little time away from me?"

"Was that why you slammed out of the room when we argued about Harry's Occlumency lessons?" She rubbed her fist across her prickling eyes and let her hand fall. "Because you couldn't stand the sight of me?"

He turned the closed book over in his hands and replaced it on the shelf, turning slightly towards her, his eyes unreadable.

"I don't understand where you got this ridiculous impression that I hate you. I've told you before that I don't."

Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

"But you don't like me very much either," she said. "Maybe if you'd actually tell me what you want from me!"

"The same that you asked from me last week, nothing more." At her look of incomprehension, he sighed. "To be yourself. Not to be afraid to say or do something I don't like. You will, of course; no doubt we both will, but don't let yourself be ruled by that fear. You're my wife now. A little licence is allowable."

She stared at him, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it firmly and thought some more.

"Okay. Thanks, I think." If he'd told her that before, she would have flung her arms around him when he came in, but she couldn't do something like that in cold blood. She edged a little closer. "What did the Dark Lord want from you?"

At once, his face closed.

"That's not a question you have a right to ask, nor I to answer as a general rule. That is something I can discuss with none but Albus." He looked at her bowed head and clasped hands and two thin lines appeared between his brows. "Tonight is an exception, however, as it concerns you."

Her head reared up and her eyes widened. She backed into the table. A few homework parchments fell to the floor unheeded.

"It – it does?"

"Indeed." He looked her up and down and cocked his head to the side, standing somehow taller and stiffer. His voice was deceptively soft. "I'm given to understand that the student body is discussing how far under the cat's foot I am. You wouldn't know anything about that, I suppose?"

She went bright red.

"They could have just assumed it because you took Neville back into your class when no one ever thought you would."

"They could." He gave a raised-eyebrow sideways glare, waiting with terrifying patience.

Shame-faced, she admitted, "I did tell Ron that we'd argued about me being bossy and that you'd agreed with me in the end because you knew I was right. I'm sorry. I never expected it to get out like that."

"You told a Weasley and you expected it to remain a secret?" he said disbelievingly.

She bit her lip, her eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry. I never thought –"

"Exactly. You never thought," he stressed. She stared at her hands clasping and unclasping. His brows drew together then slowly relaxed. "Fortunately, it doesn't make much difference. As you pointed out, the gist of it would have become known anyhow through my own actions. I do trust there will be no recurrences?"

She stared at the floor. There was a homework parchment near her left foot. She bent down and picked it up and the other two with it, noticing vaguely that they hadn't been marked. She stood up and put them on the wrong pile, straightening the stack with trembling fingers.

"I won't forget again. I'm really, really sorry."

"So you said."

She stole a glance at him and away again. The other stack was crooked too. She straightened it.

"The watch said 'danger'," she muttered, picking it up and putting it in her pocket. It said "home" now.

He shrugged.

"No worse than usual."

"He didn't – didn't Crucio you or anything?" she ventured.

He leaned back against the bookshelf. One long finger traced around his mouth.

"Crucio? Why would he do that? I suppose you imagined he Crucioed us at every meeting? Silly child. How long do you think he could keep a gang of Slytherins at his heel if he did nothing but Crucio them?"

She looked up then, her brow furrowed.

"But you looked so – tired. Ill. When I – when you –"

"When you proposed to me?" he supplied.

"When I – I didn't! But, yes, I suppose, when we talked about getting married. I'd never seen you look so weary."

He stared down his long, hooked nose at her and snorted.

"Of course I did. I'd hardly slept for three weeks."

She swallowed hard. Of course! If she'd found it distressing to watch over his battered corpse, how much more dismayed must he have been? Except –

"You offered me Dreamless Sleep. Why didn't you just take it yourself?"

His eyes closed and opened again and his lips tightened, but he made no reply. Only, he turned his head a little away.

"Unless – Couldn't you? Are you allergic? No, that can't be right. You wouldn't be able to continue brewing if you were. You – you're addicted?" That explained everything. Even faster than sleeplessness, the side effects of impaired memory and mental acuity for an addict resuming regular use would have precipitated the very fate he was trying to avoid dreaming about.

"You really are an insufferable know-it-all," he told her.

She brushed this aside as a clear ploy to distract her. It wasn't even worth getting upset about.

"Are you?" she demanded.

"I haven't taken Dreamless Sleep for fifteen years. I haven't craved it in a decade."

"Until you started dreaming your death every night," she breathed. Her eyes were wet. She scrubbed them angrily. "The dream-link wasn't a prophecy," she announced bitterly. "It was a curse!"

He stood so still her heart stopped in sympathy. The silence lay thick and smothering as a blanket.

"You feel our marriage is a curse, do you?" he asked. "It hasn't taken you long to change your mind."

She shook her head, huffing a long breath of exasperation.

"Not for me, Severus! For you! First you were forced to dream that horrible dream every night and then you were forced to marry me. And I know you didn't want to."

She blew her nose firmly on a handkerchief. He was scowling at the bookshelf again, his head slightly bowed so that his hair fell in concealing curtains over his face. She knew that stance now. She'd seen it before. If she didn't head him off, he might sulk for days. And she had permission now. _A little licence_, he'd said. _Just what she needed; a little licence and a little courage._

Balling her handkerchief up and stuffing it in her pocket, she closed the distance between them and put her hand on his shoulder. He twitched but didn't throw her off or look at her. Gathering courage, she ran her fingers lightly down his arm till they met his own larger hand, as warm and strong and calloused as she remembered it. She tugged it upwards to her lips and kissed the back of it, holding it to her damp cheek. Jerkily, he turned towards her and their eyes met. He didn't speak.

"I don't change my mind very easily, Severus," she said. "I haven't and I won't."

He was scowling, but she thought the corners of his mouth twitched.

"You're just too stubborn to admit when you're wrong," he told her severely.

Closing her eyes, she leaned into his captured hand with a little sigh. He still made no effort to remove it.

"And you're just too stubborn to admit when I'm right."

**A/N "Some of the pages were uncut" dates back to times when a book's first reader would have to cut pages apart. It therefore suggests a quite old, but unread, book.**

**"Under the cat's foot" is an old expression that means "henpecked".**

**Addiction to Dreamless Sleep Potion, or indeed any magical potion, is neither supported nor denied by canon.**


	15. A Birthday of Note

A BIRTHDAY OF NOTE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Hermione woke abruptly, to the unsettling thought that today was her birthday. Eighteen, a birthday of note in the Muggle world, but just another year gone by in this magical world she'd chosen. There seemed no reason it should make a difference to Severus yet she couldn't forget that he'd worried about the age difference and insisted on her parents' consent. And he sometimes called her 'child' instead of 'Hermione'.

Eyes still closed, she yawned and stretched, remembering other years. She hadn't had a proper birthday celebration since she was eleven. She hadn't had even a card or a greeting from her classmates in her first year, just the carefully-wrapped present her parents had packed into her trunk before she left home, the three-volume _Youth Encyclopaedia of Science_ she'd asked for. Opening it at random to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, she'd known her interests were as out of place as herself in this new world and had spent the rest of the evening crying into her pillow.

No birthday since had been quite as miserable, but they had passed unmemorably, with, at most, boxes of Bertie Bott's or Chocolate Frogs from the boys and, lately, a chain or a charm from Ginny. And always the wrapped present waiting in her trunk. Only this year, her parents hadn't had a chance to pack it, in that mad rush before she left, and she couldn't help worrying, the old silly fear, that her friends might have forgotten her. Or perhaps, this year of her marriage, been too upset to remember. Ruthlessly, she suppressed the tickle in her nose and throat that wanted to work its way into a sob.

"I'm too old to get upset over little things like that," she told herself. "I have to be grownup now."

She sighed and sat up and there at the foot of her bed was the small pile of packages she'd half-known would be there. She grinned. Yes, here were Tooth-Flossing Mints, Chocolate Frogs and Beans from the boys, a set of green and yellow Fwooper quills from Ginny and oh! She hadn't expected any presents from her new colleagues, but there were biscuits from Minerva, a woolly scarf from Filius, a delicate silver filigree photo-frame from Draco and, underneath it all, a sober sap-green parcel that could only be from Severus. Her heart pounded. He'd remembered her birthday, or at any rate had cared enough to check when it fell.

She fingered the smooth dark paper. It was obviously a book, quite a large one; she hoped it was one she didn't already have. She pulled off tape and paper and her hand flew to her mouth to cover a burst of giggling. Oh! He'd given her _Moste Potente Potions_!

She opened it to find a handwritten dedication on the flyleaf:

_For Hermione, with hope that you use it more wisely than last time, now that you are of an age to use it at all,  
Severus_

Underneath was a stick-figure drawing of a girl with quantities of long, loopy curls, which had been charmed to turn into a stick-figure girl with cat-ears and a tail. As she watched, the cat-girl changed back to the curl-girl, scooped another cupful out of the bubbling cauldron beside her, drank and grew ears and tail all over again.

She laughed again. How like him to give her a present that was at once acknowledgement, warning, reminder and reproof, message of forgiveness and declaration of trust. It occurred to her that he'd probably wanted to give her the very copy she'd borrowed from the Restricted Section five years ago, but there was no way Irma would have let him. She leafed through, noting that the pictures were just as unpleasant as she remembered, but the pages were unspotted by damp and the_ Polyjuice Potion_ page was unstained by her brewing. No, this one was new.

She swung her feet out of bed and hastily dressed, casting a glance at the clock on the wall. He would be brewing now; he always was at this time of morning. A few minutes later, she was on her way, with book in hand.

"Severus, thanks!" She waved the book at him. "I love it!"

He was chopping angelica, but he put the knife down and turned, glancing sidelong at her, with pursed mouth and quirked eyebrows.

"Your enthusiasm is gratifying, if a trifle disconcerting. Dare I ask which potion you had in mind to brew first and whose food you were planning to dose with it? Not mine, I trust."

"Of course not yours." She smirked. "If they all taste as disgusting as Polyjuice, I could hardly hope you'd drink it, could I? On the other hand, if you knew a way I could give _Inversion Potion_ to Rita, I wouldn't mind turning her inside-out."

"I wouldn't advise it. One can only imagine the stream of bile that would pour out. Coming from her, it would probably eat through the carpet and dissolve your shoes too, if you stood close enough to watch her. And it would be hardly worth the effort if you didn't."

She sighed.

"I suppose you're right. Isn't there anything I can do to stop her? After what she wrote in fourth year, I got Howlers and even a letter filled with Bubotuber pus that left my hands stinging for days."

"I don't recall seeing any of those at the breakfast table," he said carefully.

"No, my post's been a little late every day, but there hasn't been as much reaction as I expected." Her head jerked up and she stared at him narrow-eyed. "Have you been intercepting my mail?"

"I have filtered it, yes."

"But – I never gave you permission to read my mail!" She stalked closer to poke him in the chest. The book was in her way and she slammed it down on the table. Shreds of angelica flew everywhere. "How dare you read my mail?"

He restrained her without effort, his hands tight around her wrists.

"Patience, Hermione. Your little fit of pique could have inconvenienced dozens of girls in this castle if that had been the last of my supply." He eyed her consideringly. "I assume you might be one of them."

It took her a few moments to catch his meaning. She wrenched herself free, glaring, as he watched her with mild interest.

"This has nothing to do with – with – I'm not expecting that till – Anyway, I don't get cramps badly enough to need it! You _read _my mail!"

He shook his head.

"I didn't need to read it to remove the Howlers. As for less obvious pieces of ill-intent, a simple Detecting spell was enough to weed them out. The rest were allowed through. Unread, of course." Releasing her, he took another bunch of angelica from the basket and began to strip the leaves. "You might like to repair the damage you've caused and assist me with the potion. You may not need it, but Poppy assures me that many of the female students do."

Biting her lip, she picked up her book and placed it on the empty chair, then Evanescoed the dusty shreds from the floor. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You want me to help?" He'd never asked before.

"Has age suddenly dimmed your powers of comprehension or only your hearing? I won't ask twice. If you don't wish to assist, go and take points off a student or whatever you usually do to work off your temper."

She came to stand beside him and, picking up some angelica, began to strip it.

"If I did, it would be a Slytherin," she told him.

"No doubt. And you accuse me of bias!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In the intervals of teaching, Hermione spent the rest of the day trying to decide whether she was more pleased at her husband's gift or annoyed at his high-handedness and his dismissal of her just displeasure as mere hormones. She wasn't expecting a second part to his birthday gift.

"Reviewing your essay on transfiguration of magical creatures to non-magical counterparts can be put off till tomorrow. You wouldn't want to keep your parents waiting, would you?" he said as they walked through the empty Entrance Hall, where he had guided her after a hasty dinner.

She stopped and stared at him.

"My parents? What are you talking about?"

He continued walking.

"Teachers are allowed to take personal leave for short periods of their free time, subject to permission in each instance. Albus agreed that this would be an appropriate use of the privilege," he said over his shoulder.

"We're visiting my parents?" she repeated.

"Why not? I believe your Apparition skills are sufficient? They could hardly be worse than your handling of a broom."

She hurried after him and caught him by the sleeve, tugging until he stopped and looked down at her with a smirk.

"I can so fly! I had to, to help Harry get through that maze in first year! Just because I don't like it much –" she said. "When you say things like that, I don't know whether to slap you or hug you."

"Is your brain ruled by your feet, or can you walk as you decide that very weighty point?"

She glared up at him.

"I'm definitely leaning towards slapping," she warned. "Ask Draco if it's worth the risk." He must know about that incident, he'd mentioned it to her once.

"Draco was too much the gentleman to retaliate, I believe. Ask yourself if you think I'd let you."

"Why do you keep doing this?" she cried. "Why do you deliberately rile me up all the time?"

"Habit?"

"Can't you do something nice without being nasty about it?"

"Apparently not. Here we are." He opened the Main Gates to let her through and closed them carefully behind him. "After you, or would you rather go together?"

She scowled at him and recklessly decided to up the stakes.

"Only if you let me take you, not the other way round."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you can?"

Closing the short distance, she flung her arms around him and pulled him close.

"Hold still," she ordered. _Destination, determination, deliberation_ and turn…

And there they were, in her parents' front garden, screened by the box-hedge from curious eyes. _There, that would show him! _She looked up triumphantly, only to find him smirking down at her.

"You wanted me to do that!" she said. "You provoked me deliberately!"

"You're so very easy to provoke," he murmured. "Gryffindor!"

"Slytherin!" she retorted and suddenly realised how close they were still standing. It was her turn to smirk. "You know, if you wanted to be in my arms, you only had to say so."

"You're assuming that was the purpose of the exercise."

He stepped out of her embrace just as the front door opened. Her parents had obviously been on the watch and, by their knowing smiles, had presumably seen their arrival. At least Severus was blushing too. Hah!

"Happy birthday, Hermione!" they chorused and her mother added, "Well, this is a treat and all thanks to Severus. We haven't celebrated your birthday together for, what? Seven years, isn't it? Come in, come in, do."

"No need to ask if he's looking after you," her dad said. "You look blooming, roses in your cheeks, sparkle in your eyes … and you must be looking after him too, for I see he's the same."

"Da-ad!"

Beside her, she felt her husband stiffen. She thought at first that he'd been offended by her father's innuendo, but then she noticed the clenching of his fist and the heat radiating from his arm. She'd never been close enough to know it went hot when he was called.

"I have a few errands to run, I'm afraid," he said smoothly. "I hope to be back in time to take Hermione home, but since she has just demonstrated her proficiency with Apparition, if I'm not able to return by 10.30 perhaps she'd better not wait."

"Severus." She grabbed his hand and held on tightly. Their eyes met, hers pleading, his warning. She gulped. "Come back safely."

"I always do, don't I?" he said. "Goodbye, Helen, Perry, Hermione. I'm sorry I can't stay for the cake." And with that he was gone.

**A/N _Moste Potente Potions_ had a picture of a man turned inside-out. I've taken the liberty of naming the relevant brew _Inversion Potion._**

**Bile is not usually caustic enough to dissolve anything, but Severus is having a crack at Rita's acidic pen.**

**Angelica has several traditional medicinal uses. Reducing female cramps is one of them.**

**I've pinched the mechanism of Apparition from HBP.**


	16. Imitation of Serenity

IMITATION OF SERENITY

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Hermione's parents didn't ask about Severus's errands. They didn't ask with such determination that she almost broke down and told them, but she gathered her resolve. There was so much to tell about her friends and her studies and her teaching disasters – Jamison had turned his wand hand into a watermelon with a misfired hex and Abdurrahman had transfigured his hedgehog into a warthog that chased his neighbours around the room – that it was easy to leave out her husband and home life. She'd realised, after almost bursting into tears at his name, that she'd better avoid those topics, so she smiled and chattered and ate cake and gave her best imitation of serenity and her parents nodded and smiled and imitated back at her.

It was after ten when the doorbell finally rang.

"That could be Severus now," her father said. "Perhaps you'd like to answer it?"

She managed not to run, but when she opened the door she flung herself into her husband's arms. She could almost feel his heartbeat through the layers of clothing. _Was that blood she could smell?_

"You're all right, you're all right! I was so worried!"

"You're babbling," he complained, but his arms were firm around her. "If we were at school, I'd take twenty points from Hufflepuff."

"Why Hufflepuff?" She looked up, pulling a little away to see his face.

"Do you call yourself a Gryffindor, when a mere three-hour absence sends you into hysterics?" he asked, lifting his hand to brush her cheek. His fingers were icy.

"You must be freezing. Come inside where it's warmer," she said, catching his hand in hers and tugging at it.

The warmth of the day had not completely faded away. She wondered where he'd been to be so chilled. And why his cuff was ripped and the side of his neck gashed, where she could just see it under his hair.

"I can't stay longer than to bid your parents farewell. There are certain people I must speak to."

A question trembled on the edge of her lips, but she didn't ask. He wouldn't tell her anyway, so why annoy him?

Her parents exhibited the same careful lack of curiosity at his abrupt arrival and departure as they had the first time. As he slid his arm around her in the garden, preparing to Apparate, he looked down at her thoughtfully.

"Your parents know, or perhaps suspect, too much," he said. "I hope their years have taught them discretion."

"I didn't tell them anything I shouldn't," she said, when the dizziness of Side-Along Apparition had settled.

"I didn't say you did. They might guess, I imagine, if they are as much like you as they seem." He released her and started walking. "I wondered why it was so much easier to persuade them to our marriage than I'd anticipated."

She chewed on her lip, hurrying a little to keep up with him.

"They knew about the war, of course. And – and You-Know-Who," she said.

She might tell her students in class not to be afraid of a name, but she knew better than to try that on her husband. He wasn't afraid of a name but of an all too present reality. If Voldemort read disrespect in his mind, whether through active use or passive permission, the fact that it had been far away or long ago wouldn't reduce his punishment.

"And you accused me in front of them, of throwing myself needlessly into danger. That was probably enough."

He shook his head and the breeze lifted his hair, sending it streaming behind him and revealing again the slash on his neck. If that had been a little more to the right –

"You're cut," she told him.

"Just a scratch. I've had worse injuries in the classroom."

"Not in my class." Partly because she had routinely headed off Neville's disasters, not that the scowling man beside her had ever thanked her for that. She glanced sidelong at him, wishing she could say so without triggering an argument.

"No, you always preferred to give me them outside class, didn't you?" he said.

Her eyes prickled and her throat hurt.

"Why do you always do that?" she said. "Always picking at the past, always spoiling for a fight. Do you like quarrelling?"

His face closed. "Perhaps I'm better at it than at – other things. I've had more practice at it, anyway." They reached the door to the Entrance Hall. He opened it and held it for her to pass through. "I must go. I have no plans to leave the castle again tonight so you may rest easy."

She grabbed at his arm as he turned away.

"You don't think I can just go to bed, do you, after waiting three hours for you to return?"

"You'd be well-advised to do so. It's a little too late to start reviewing your studies now, or at any rate it will be by the time I come to our rooms. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be time enough to talk."

"No," she said flatly. "I'm not going into my bedroom until I know you're safe home in our quarters. Not unless you promise to come in and tell me when you arrive. I won't be able to sleep otherwise."

He twitched his sleeve out of her grasp, scowling down at her.

"I will not violate your privacy by going into your room."

"It's not violating if I invite you. I want you to."

He took a hasty step towards her and loomed over her so she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

"While you argue, our esteemed headmaster is waiting to speak with me," he hissed.

"I'm not arguing. I'm just saying. If you don't promise to let me know you're back, I'll wait in the sitting-room till I see you."

"You are the most stubborn, aggravating child!"

"I'm not a child. I'm eighteen now. That's adult even for Muggles."

"As if that made a difference," he sneered. "Very well, wait up if you wish or I'll tell you goodnight through the door, if you prefer."

"I'll leave it open," she promised. "Thank you."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione was drowsing on banked-up pillows when she heard his voice at her door.

"You can sleep now. I'm home."

She blinked and yawned. Then she registered what she'd just heard and jumped out of bed, barefoot and without a dressing gown, to catch him before he walked off. She burst through the open door and plucked at his sleeve. He looked back at her and recoiled.

"What do you think you're wearing? Put something on this minute!" he said.

She looked down at herself, puzzled. Plain-cut, sensible maroon pyjamas, with an open collar; if her friends ever remembered watching her buy them, they'd stop imagining she had anyone but herself keeping her bed warm.

"It's only flannel pyjamas," she protested. "What's wrong with them?"

"Did you traipse around the Gryffindor common rooms in your nightwear for all the boys to ogle you?" he demanded. "Never mind, I don't want to know." He turned away. She held him back.

"No, but that's a bit different, isn't it? I wasn't married to any of them." She stared at him doubtfully and then her eyes brightened. "Are you saying my pyjamas make me ogle-worthy? I don't know why. There's nothing to see."

With great resolution, he watched the bookshelf instead of her, his cheeks reddening at her question.

"They show your – your shape," he muttered.

She looked down again, puzzled.

"They don't, do they? They're just pyjamas." Except there was that one button that always strained, but not quite enough to pop open. She blushed. "Oh. Um, okay, I'll put on my gown if you'll wait for me to come back. I know it's been a long day, but can we – can we talk? Just for a few minutes."

"My sweet life, I can refuse you nothing," he sneered. "As you very well know."

Her breath hitched and she turned back to him.

"Please don't. We talked about this. You're allowed to tell me no, you know you are. But I would like to talk a bit, if you don't mind too much. Please?"

"Hurry up, then!"

She was out again in half a minute, with her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her and her feet thrust into fuzzy blue slippers. Ignoring the chair he'd emptied for her, she walked across to stand in front of him.

"I don't suppose you've bothered to clean that gash on your neck," she said.

"I told you it was only a scratch."

"I remember what you told me. All of it." But she would have to revisit his comments about injuries outside class another time. "So that means you haven't dressed it, doesn't it? Let me have a look."

She moved around to his side as she spoke and reached out to push his hair aside. His head swivelled and he glowered up at her for a minute then seemed to decide it wasn't worth arguing about and tilted his neck towards her. _He must be very tired, _she thought Gently she lifted the hank of hair out of the way. It was very soft and fine and felt slippery rather than greasy. Her fingers brushed skin and he twitched as if he was ticklish.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me how this happened," she said, as she examined the wound.

There was a crust of dried blood, not very much for a neck wound, but hard and rough to the touch. He must have done a Blood-Stop spell on it; it had that distinctive feel _Healing Hurts by the Hundreds _had mentioned. It worked on surface wounds but couldn't be focused narrowly enough for veins and arteries. Again she felt that strange ache in her chest, simultaneously hollow and leaden. Another inch or two to the side and he'd have bled to death before he could stop it.

"It was dark. They weren't aiming for me. It was just a lucky shot," he muttered.

She thought back to that time she'd opened the bathroom cupboard. He had some Heal-All and some spider-web that would do nicely. She Accioed them and asked the elves for some clean water in two bowls and began cleaning the blood away, noticing as she did so that his eyes were drifting closed.

"Yes, very informative, I'm sure," she grumbled, running her fingers lightly along the scar, which was beginning to well up with fresh blood. Luckily, the Heal-All would soon fix that. She daubed it on a wad of spider-web and smoothed it gently all over.

"You spent a long time with Albus," she said, rinsing and drying her hands on an Accioed towel, then fingering his hair again. Yes, it was definitely lotion, not natural oil, she thought irrelevantly. She had a brief mental vision of his face above hers, eyes intent and hair loose and clean, falling over her like a curtain. _It wouldn't quite touch the pillow. _The ache clenched and she gulped and closed her eyes just as he opened his. It was good that he didn't pull away or stiffen, but she wanted more.

"I wasn't with Albus all this time. I've just come from speaking with Draco," he said.

She snatched her hand away and stepped back from him, turning to the table and pretending to be busy stoppering the vial.

"You went to Draco instead of here? When you knew I was worrying about you!" _It's his godson, Hermione, _she told herself. _Of course he cares about him. _But her eyes prickled and burned with unshed tears and the inside of her nose itched. She blinked hard and scrunched her face, afraid he might see if she swiped it with her hand.

"I thought he needed to hear it from me first. He has the night to decide how to respond to the news," he explained.

She took a deep breath and let it out shakily.

"The news? You mean you told him where you went but you won't tell me?" _I'm your wife! _

"I told him what concerned him. You might as well know too, since it will be in tomorrow's paper anyway. There was a raid on Azkaban tonight. Lucius and the other Death Eaters are free."

**A/N Blood-Stop spell, _Healing Hurts by the Hundreds and _Heal-All are not canon. Neither is spider-web as a substitute for gauze or bandages, though it is a traditional Muggle folk remedy for cuts.**


	17. Completely Daft

COMPLETELY DAFT

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

With the ease of long practice, Neville jumped away from the sputtering cauldron, pulling his companion to safety with an urgent hand.

"Normally it's me that melts the cauldrons," he said mildly. "Mind not on the job tonight? Anything you might want to, er, talk about?"

Draco Malfoy quenched the fire and Evanescoed the slime-green potion before the smoke could grow too thick.

"Why would I ever tell you anything?" he sneered. He inspected the cauldron carefully. It didn't seem to have started melting, but it would need a good scrub. He set it in the sink for later.

Neville watched the taut, tight shoulders, the white-knuckled fists, the pale, closed face half-turned from his, and pursed his lips.

"Because you can," he suggested. "I'm, er, better than you'd think at keeping secrets."

"As if you'd know any secrets worth the telling!" The ladle was strangely ragged around the edges. Draco wondered whether it was worth casting a _Reparo_.

"I suppose it might seem that way to you." Neville plunged his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. "The only ones I'd tell you are the ones you already know. Your own."

"You know nothing about me." Draco held the ladle up to the light, turning it this way and that. _No, probably not. _His godfather would not be pleased.

"Nothing? I know what it's like to love your parents completely, even when everyone else thinks they're completely daft."

The ladle clattered to the floor. Draco whirled on Neville, his hand clenching on his upraised wand.

"Don't you even try to compare – My parents aren't nuts!"

Neville stared back placidly, his own wand dangling loosely in his fist, as if he'd expected exactly that reply.

"Your dad's a Death Eater," he pointed out. "Can't get much dafter than that, can you? Anyone who thinks blood makes us better and smarter than Muggle-borns, when you only have to look at Hermione –"

"I never look at Her – her if I can help it!" Two bright spots bloomed in the pale cheeks.

"Except when you can't help it, and then you look at her too much," Neville said.

Draco paused, his grey eyes searching the room for a snappy comeback.

"Maybe I'm just taking the opportunity to watch something that's about to be gone for good. When our side wins, there won't be any Muggle-borns at Hogwarts, or anywhere in our world," he said lamely.

Neville just looked at him until his wand wavered and he ran a shaking hand through his sleek hair.

"How did you know?" he muttered. He couldn't believe he was thinking of talking to ruddy Wrongbottom of all people.

Neville shrugged.

"You all make me laugh sometimes," he said. "You think because you don't see me when I'm in the room that I don't see you. I used to watch you to make sure you weren't getting ready to hex me again. Then I watched you _because_ you weren't."

Draco's lips trembled and tightened. He pocketed his wand and began to measure out a new set of ingredients.

"Why would you want to talk to me anyway?" he said at last. "I always thought you despised me as much as I despised you when we were kids. You told me once that you were worth twelve of me."

"I did despise you, when we were kids. I thought you were sure to grow up to be just like your mad auntie Bellatrix that cursed my parents into St Mungo's." Neville picked up the bunch of asphodel and chose two stalks. Handing one to Draco, he began chopping the other into half-inch segments. "But we're two sides of the same coin, we are. You've spent most of your life trying to be what you're not, and I've spent most of mine trying not to be what I am."

He bundled his pieces into a little pile, then added it to Draco's.

"You're not your dad, you know," he added. "I've faced you both across pointed wands and I know the difference."

Draco shied away, glaring.

"You're as addled as your parents," he said. "What are you on about, anyway?"

"Everyone our age's paired up with a best friend, just about," Neville said slowly, appearing not to notice the slackening of Draco's jaw, "Ron and Harry, Dean and Seamus, Crabbe and Goyle –"

"They're _my_ friends," Draco said.

"Are they? They make a good audience, but it's never seemed to me you had much to say to them. Leastways, not stuff they could understand."

"You are addled." Draco gave him a sideways glance. "A Malfoy and a Longbottom? It's impossible!"

"Why?"

"Well – You're always Gryffindors and we're Slytherins. And Slytherins and Gryffindors are never friends."

"It doesn't seem to have stopped Hermione marrying Snape, does it? And the Sorting Hat did say we should learn from that. 'All houses stand together,'" he quoted. "'You can, and now you must.'" He grimaced and shrugged. "Funny how that bit seems to stick in my head, while this lot," (he picked up the textbook and waved it meaningly) "just slides right out."

Draco's shoulders hunched. He fetched another ladle, set up the cauldron and restarted the fire.

"You can do the first three additions. It's seven stirs clockwise each time and I'll signal you when," he said. Then he measured in half a pint of armadillo bile and three crushed cockroaches. He waited till the potion darkened to indigo.

"D'you think she's happy?" he muttered. He didn't know if he wanted her to be or not.

"She seems to be," Neville said, adding the first pinch of asphodel at his prompt and stirring clockwise seven times. "Leastways she keeps looking at him and sort of smiling whenever she thinks we aren't looking. And she called him sweet t'other day to my face."

Draco snorted, his head swivelling involuntarily and his mouth hanging.

"Sweet? She thinks he's sweet?" _About as sweet as a Runespoor's right head._

"Yes, she does!" Neville rolled his eyes. "He'd organised for us to visit her Sundays, see, as a sort of surprise, I suppose. And when she realised he'd done it, she said how sweet he was." He grimaced again. "I suppose it was rather thoughtful, but sweet?"

Draco shook his head, watching the other teen add the second pinch and stir another seven times. Then the third. The potion was thickening now. It dragged against the ladle.

"Of course we know why he married her," he said, lowering the fire. "Everyone knows he signed his life away before we were born." _He didn't get a choice. He told me so._ "But why did she marry him? Watch this bit; this is where we went wrong last time." He gathered the rest of the asphodel bits and sprinkled them in slowly, then stirred fifteen times clockwise, with a half-stir back at every fifth stir. "I didn't think she was the sort to marry for position."

"I bet they got her on being needed," Neville said. "She always was a sucker for that. Look at all those times she helped me, even when she knew he'd get her in trouble for it."

"That's just it," Draco said fiercely. "I never thought she even liked him! Needed or not, how could she marry him if she didn't like him? You say you see so much! Did you ever see her liking him?"

The potion was a creamy pink now. It looked like raspberry custard. It smelled like mouldy oranges.

"Not to say like, no. She looked at him sometimes last year, curious like, as if she was wondering if she could, but then she'd always shake her head and fold her lips no." Neville shrugged. "Does it matter? We neither of us ever had a chance with her; you know that. Not even Krum ever had a chance, not with Ron and Harry keeping her busy dragging them out of danger every other day."

Draco stared down at the potion.

"She always hated me. Always."

"If you hadn't kept calling her Mudblood –"

"Shows what you know." It was time to stir again, five stirs clockwise, half a stir back. "She started it. I never said anything to her till she told everyone I bought my place on the team."

"But you did, didn't you?" Neville pointed out.

"Thought you said you knew. Course I didn't. Won it fair and square and then my dad decided to sponsor us after. But she said I bought it and then no one ever believed anything else, no matter how many games we won against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."

"You attacked Harry first, that's why she said it. You know she'd have done anything for Ron and Harry."

"That isn't true either. I tried to make friends with him twice, but he hated me on sight, I think. And then all of you did." Another set of stirs. Draco stared at the potion unblinkingly. Now it looked like blueberry pudding and smelled like mouldy lemons. "I never get what I want," he muttered. "Never what I really want."

"It seemed to us that you got everything you wanted," Neville pointed out. "Rich family, parents alive and well, place on the Quidditch team, top box at the World Cup …"

"How d'you know about that? I don't remember you there."

"Saw it in the paper. Gran wouldn't buy tickets."

"Oh." Draco's eyes were narrowed to slits and his hand ached from holding the ladle so tightly. "I always got what it suited my dad to give me, not what I asked for."

"But you had a dad and he was alive and well enough to give you presents! And a mum who sent you sweets every day! My parents don't even know who I am. The only presents they've ever given me are old gum wrappers and my dad's old wand that I could hardly get to work. What did you ever want and not get?"

"Before second year, we stopped in at Borgin and Burkes," Draco said, more to himself than to Neville, stirring again till the potion changed to look like blackberry jam and smell like mouldy grapefruit. It was almost ready. "He had a Hand of Glory, an actual Hand of Glory! How neat would that be, to be the only person who knew the way in the dark, the one everybody had to listen to!" His face briefly glowed, then darkened. "Dad said it was for thieves and plunderers and that was all I was fit for."

"Funny that, when he's naught but a plunderer himself," Neville said tartly. "He should have been happy to have you walking in his footsteps, shouldn't he?"

Draco stared at him, mouth a-cock for a several moments, then began weakly to laugh.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Ginny? What are you doing here?" Hermione looked up from her husband's desk as two taps on his office door were followed by it bursting open. Her friend stood in the doorway, chest heaving and eyes flashing.

"Your husband – am I allowed to say your complete git of a husband or do I have to wait till I'm out of school before I can be honest? – Your husband gave me detention tonight! For nothing!" Ginny tossed her hair back and stuck out her chin.

Hermione looked sidelong at her.

"He gave you detention with me?" she asked.

Ginny scowled and tossed her head back again.

"Yes, he – Oh! With you? Is that why you're in his office?" The resentment draining from her face, she took a few steps into the room and closed the door behind her.

"Yes, he had a meeting with the other Heads of House and he asked me to take over his detentions for tonight." And now she knew why.

The news of Lucius Malfoy's escape had come as an unpleasant shock. She still didn't want to examine how she felt about the likelihood that her husband had helped bring it about, but her first reaction had been dismay that he'd told his godson before her. Then she'd wanted to do her friends the same favour.

"Potter can learn of it in the morning along with the rest of the school," he'd growled and she'd growled right back.

"When Ginny started first year, that man gave her a cursed diary that almost killed her. Don't you think she deserves advance warning that he's out, just as much as your precious Draco?"

He'd ignored the provocative adjective, merely reminding her that they'd spoken before about Weasleys and discretion.

"I trust Ginny with my life," she'd told him, remembering how they'd battled Death Eaters together.

"Indeed?" he'd asked. "Do you trust her with mine?"

And that had ended the argument. She'd remembered simultaneously that he would throw his life away on her word, as if duty-bound, and that she'd married him for the specific purpose of preventing him throwing his life away. It seemed he'd found her an opportunity to comfort her friend nevertheless. She smiled.

"If you really want to be honest," she said, "I think you have to admit that he isn't a complete git."

Ginny flung herself into the uncomfortable straight-backed chair with a little "Oof" of annoyance.

"Anyone who puts a chair this hard for his visitors to suffer in, can't be anything but," she grumbled. "I've been fuming for hours and you say he was doing me a favour! Couldn't he just call me back after class and invite me to visit you?"

Hermione smirked.

"Oh, he could have," she temporised. _If he didn't mind having to explain himself to a certain psychopath a day or two later. _"But that wouldn't have been near as much fun for him, would it?" _Not any fun, at all._

"Oh, ha-ha," said Ginny.

**A/N In PS, ch 13, Harry told Neville he was worth twelve of Malfoy and Neville repeated it to Draco at their next run-in.**

**The confrontation at the Quidditch pitch, CoS, ch 7, was the first actual confrontation between Draco and Hermione. He bullied Neville in PS and he kept insulting Ron and Harry or trying to get them in trouble, which accidentally netted Hermione a detention over Norbert, but she wasn't even on his radar until she accused him of "buying his way in" (which was pure supposition, BTW, as we don't know if the new brooms were bought before or after he was chosen.)**

**In CoS, it was actually Mr Borgin who termed the Hand of Glory as "Best friend of thieves and plunderers" and Lucius Malfoy responded that he hoped his son would amount to more than that, but, if his school marks didn't pick up, it might be all he was fit for. **


	18. If You Have Questions

IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

**I'm working on the next chapter at the moment, but can't guarantee to have it ready in time to post next week. **

For the seventh time in half an hour, Hermione looked up from grading second year essays on recognising vampires to watch her husband, only this time he was looking back. She blushed and turned hurriedly back to Alice Carter's screed on the "beauteous Lady Sanguina" and her bathing habits.

"Say it," he advised.

"Say what?"

She scrawled an 'A' at the top of Alice's parchment and picked up Cindy's, a diatribe against creatures that played with their food. The twins always wrote the same information as each other but from an opposite view. She was never quite sure whether it was some kind of elaborate joke or an attempt to avoid cheating. She scrawled another 'A'.

"What you're thinking. What your eyes keep asking." He watched her eyes drop and added, "Or are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid of you. I haven't been for a long time." But her fingers trembled as she took the next essay.

"And yet you don't say it. Must I say it for you?"

That brought her eyes up to him with a snap.

"If you know what I'm thinking, why do you need to hear me say it?" she asked.

"I don't. But you need to say it, as it's obviously troubling you." He picked up another essay and scowled fiercely at it, his eyes running down the page with practised speed and his quill dipping automatically into the red ink.

She looked down at the parchment, biting hard on her lower lip and blinking back the prickle in her eyes that blurred the neat printing into gibberish. Some words were better not said. She didn't want to say these. They'd just begun to get comfortable with each other. But she wasn't getting any grading done either.

"You've been friends with Lucius Malfoy a long time," she said at last.

"Yes." He seemed to be crossing out whole inches of script.

_Well, that was uninformative._

"Very good friends?" she probed.

"Moderately." He placed the parchment face down on his pile of marked essays and picked up another from his pile of unmarked homework.

"You're his son's godfather," she said sharply.

"I could not then refuse anything he asked of me." He bent over the parchment and began obstinately to scan it.

"And now?" Her fingers toyed with her quill. She put it down before she could drip any ink on Harbin's work. His voice was whiny even when he wasn't; no need to give him a reason to be.

"You won't be asked to dinner at the Manor, if that's what you're concerned about," he said. "The friendship has cooled. He has his responsibilities and I have mine and they rarely coincide."

She wanted to slap him. He'd told her to ask and now he was making the question so difficult. She leaned back in her chair and returned to an earlier point.

"What did he ask of you?"

"To be Draco's godfather, of course." He finished the parchment and put a mark at the top.

"Yes, but what else?" she insisted.

He closed his eyes and opened them. Then he took another unmarked essay and bent over it.

"Too much," he said.

"If you don't want to talk about it, why did you tell me to ask?"

She thought his lips tightened, from the little she could see behind his hair.

"I gave you the best advice I could. This is not a classroom and we don't have a set topic to get through every time we meet. If you have questions, then ask. I didn't say I'd answer all of them. Unless you order me to?" His voice sharpened on the question.

"No." Her shoulders slumped. "You know I won't order you to."

"Then continue," he said.

"What's the point, if you're not answering my questions?"

"I've answered every question you asked of me." Another essay was done. He took the next.

"But you haven't told me anything!" she cried.

He put down his quill and pushed his chair back from the table, with an exasperated huff.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

_Why you became a Death Eater_, she thought. _Why you turned away from Voldemort and became a spy_. _And everything in between._

"I don't know," she said.

He eyed her up and down. Her hands clasped in her lap, but she looked defiantly back. He snorted.

"I've known you too long to believe that. What _don't_ you wish to know?"

Her left hand squeezed her right so hard it hurt. She looked down at them, chewing on her lip.

"Tell me then," she said.

He looked down his long, hooked nose at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Tell you what?"

She opened her mouth to speak and paused. Then she tried again.

"What I wish to know. You said if I didn't say it, you would."

One long finger traced around and around his lips as he considered her.

"You're disturbed that Lucius has been freed," he said slowly.

"Yes."

He sat straight and stiff. She tilted her head back a little further to watch his face.

"You're upset that I didn't tell you immediately and that I spoke to others on the matter first."

"I – Yes. Yes, I suppose I am," she admitted.

He looked at her sidelong and nodded. His finger traced again, this time in the other direction. An eyebrow raised and lowered.

"You wonder whether the Malfoys are higher in my esteem than you."

She flushed and swallowed.

"I – All right, yes, I do. Are they?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Can you be a bit more specific than that?" She saw the answer in his eye and hastily corrected herself. "I mean, please would you be more specific?"

"Draco is my godson. I held him as a baby and I've watched over him as a child. Lucius and Narcissa are the friends of my youth. My misspent youth, you might wish to say. You are my wife. Do you need more reassurance than that?"

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Do you?" he asked again.

She shrugged up one shoulder, watching her fingers pick at the skin around her thumbnail.

"Hermione, look at me. Would I have accepted your friends back into my classes for anyone other than you?"

"You only did it because you had to," she mumbled and returned to picking at her nail.

"Did I?"

Her head jerked up again.

"Didn't you?" she said.

"What did I promise at our wedding?"

She blushed. _F__aith, favour, fealty; love, labour, loyalty; heart, hope and open hand._ She'd promised too.

"Do you think I make promises without keeping them," he continued, "any more than you do?"

She closed her mouth and swallowed.

"You've never said it," she told him.

"Never is a strong word for a period of time equalling less than four weeks," he pointed out. "Am I not saying it now? You are – most precious to me. The only one ever to put me first since my mother passed. How can I do less for you?"

"Is that all it is?" she asked. "Obligation?"

"Do you think I call my obligations precious?"

She smiled, despite herself. Her eyes returned to her fidgeting hands.

"I suppose you think I'm being very silly and childish," she grumbled.

"You were barely more than a third of my age when you walked into my classroom for the first time and you're still less than half. I cannot help noticing that, any less than you can help noticing my age." He sighed. "Must I remind you of what you said to me the day you proposed?"

As if she could forget. _The age difference will matter less, as we grow older. _

She tried to scowl at him.

"Stop saying I proposed to you. It sounds awful."

He smirked.

"If that was all, we do both have grading to finish before we can move on to your Charms homework; Protean Charms, I believe," he reminded her.

"I could do them in fifth year," she said. "I'd rather brew Veritaserum." _The next potion in the seventh year syllabus._

He tilted his head to the side and raised both eyebrows.

"You do know it's useless against Occlumency, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but what – I wasn't planning to use it on you!" she protested. Then she noticed that his lips were twitching and she grinned back.

"On Miss Skeeter, perhaps?" he suggested.

"I wish I could," she agreed. "If it wasn't controlled by strict Ministry guidelines, I'd borrow Harry's Cloak and put three drops in her pumpkin juice before her next article."

"Soaking her quill in Veritaserum would be more useful, I imagine. I understand she has a habit of sucking it."

"That's definitely a thought," Hermione said, wondering when he'd ever been close enough to find that out. She didn't think she could ask without blushing. "Except if she wrote about us again, she might blurt out how I've known since fourth year that she was an Animagus and she's really not worth going to Azkaban for."

"Unless we could first insert a false memory of her having Obliviated you after you released her. But that would be rather a lot of work to do retroactively and we are both excessively busy." He cast a meaning glance at the pile of essays waiting for his attention.

She sighed and they both turned back to their work. Harbin's essay was as precise as his handwriting. She gave him an E and took the next one, grimacing at the name. If she marked this one fairly, she'd have to move everyone else up a grade.

"Severus?" she said a few minutes and a scrawled 'D' later. His fingers tightened on the quill. "When you were Lucius Malfoy's friend – before it cooled, as you put it – I suppose – I suppose you thought alike about a lot of things."

"Yes." His hair swung forward, covering his face as he bent lower over his work.

"And – and I suppose you did a lot of things together."

"Some," he said.

"Things – things like he did to Ginny with that diary?"

"I can assure you," he said through gritted teeth, "that I never sent a child a cursed diary or a cursed anything."

There was a silence. She marked another essay. Winford wrote an imaginative romance suggesting that the two famous singing vampires, Bloddwyn Bludd and Lorcan D'eath, were father and son. She gave that a P, after some consideration. At least the dates matched and the comments about appropriate names for Dark Creatures were mildly amusing.

"Severus?" she said again.

"Hmm?" His hands were still.

"You must have had something in common with him once."

"Several things, starting with a regard for academic excellence. But probably no more than you have in common with your friends. I can only say I've never understood quite what that could be." He gave her a long severe look. "Nor, may I add, have I ever wished to inquire."

She marked another two essays. Pirie thought that vampires could be identified by their propensity to develop garlic breath from even the merest whiff of a garlic clove at ten paces, hence their aversion to the bulb. Aguilar covered seventeen inches of parchment with an anecdote about her mother's uncle's brother-in-law's boss's father's best friend, who disappeared on his second visit to Romania. The length was partly attributable to the relationships being written out in full every time and partly to speculations on why he went back. The last inch mentioned vampires' pale, gaunt appearance and dislike of garlic. Another two 'D's.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" he hissed.

"Did he – You were his friend. Did he ever tell you about sending the diary?"

He threw his head back for a long, deep breath then let it drop forward again, behind his hair. The only sound was the rustle of parchment till he spoke in a voice of forced patience.

"Tell a staff member how to stop the mayhem? Why would you imagine him so foolish?"

He hadn't said no. Her heart felt squeezed.

"That – That isn't an answer," she breathed.

He slammed down his quill. The point broke off and ink spattered the topmost parchment. His face flushed and his eyes flamed as he turned on her, standing over her with white-knuckled hands.

"No!" he said. "He did not tell me! Not before! Not during! Not after! Have I ever given you reason to imagine I would sit idly by while children were in danger, whatever their house or their birth? _Have I?_"

"No. I didn't mean – I'm sorry."

"_Sorry?_"

He slammed the door behind him. By the time she scrambled out of her chair and opened it, it was too late to follow.

**A/N Blodwyn Bludd and Lady Carmilla Sanguina are apparently canon and Lorcan D'eath is one of JK's wizards of the month. I found them on HPL. **


	19. Pulling Your Chain

PULLING YOUR CHAIN

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Chewing on her lip, Hermione watched the door her husband had just slammed behind himself. It wasn't opening. When she remembered to check her fob watch, it said _Patrolling_. At least he was still in the castle then. She rubbed the back of her hand against her wet eyes and turned back to her marking. She was finished with the Vampire essays, which meant she could no longer put off reading the third year Transfiguration screeds on "Animating the Inanimate; Accidents and Ethical Considerations."

She grimaced, remembering Minerva's thin smile and admission of relief at being spared this year from correcting "the ill-written effusions of adolescent humourists, who are too old to be oblivious to certain biological urges and too young to find them commonplace. Third years, in particular, seem both able and eager to turn every topic into witticisms of the crudest kind and Transfiguration seems uniquely suited to the production thereof."

She hated being the drudge of the staffroom. When she'd said so to Severus, he'd smirked and reminded her that it was part of the process all apprentices went through. She'd daringly joked that, unlike most apprentices, she had someone to pass on her dirty work to, and he'd raised an eyebrow and asked which other responsibilities she might be planning to shirk.

The boys would never believe he could be playful in his own sneering, smirking way. She hadn't believed it herself at first. She'd pinched herself when he'd thrown himself into an exaggerated impersonation of her for their mock-classroom exercises, when he'd provoked her into Apparating him to her parents' home, when he'd suggested soaking Rita's quill in Veritaserum. Who'd have thought that his lip could curl, and his eyebrow raise and he could look at her sidelong with that teasing gleam that softened his harsh face and thickened the air till she could hardly breathe for watching him?

She gulped and sniffed and rubbed her eyes. _I'm an idiot. I've ruined everything. _On her lap, Crookshanks shifted his not inconsiderable weight and flexed his claws in her leg.

"Ow! Not you, too," she grumbled, giving him a warning push. He turned himself around and settled himself more comfortably to sleep. Gingerly, she reached over him for Abdurrahman's parchment.

_It's easier to turn a sock than a rock into a cock, because you dont have to change so much of the shape. _

She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them and read it again, only to realise her mistake. Reading it once was more than enough; that was an image she'd have trouble getting out of her head. Severus would have had an adequately crushing comment for such an assertion; all she could do was wince and dip her quill in red ink then sit, waiting for inspiration, till Crookshanks clawed her again and jumped to the floor to pad away with his tail in the air. There was a darker, redder spot, suspiciously damp, on his right haunch where the ink had dripped.

"Sorry," she said guiltily and turned back to the essay, skimming it rapidly as she'd learnt to do. Apparently, Abdurrahman had made enough visits to St Mungo's Spell Damage ward to have a fairly extensive idea of what sort of accidents might occur. She couldn't say that she was surprised. She turned to the next parchment and winced.

_It's important to keep a safe distance from the object you want to change. You wouldn't want to turn a zipper into a crab's nipper if it was on the pants you were wearing._

Next time, she'd warn the class against suggesting unusual spells she might be tempted to demonstrate in class on the proposer.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In the stillness that settled on the castle after curfew, he heard them before he saw them, and paused to listen. Draco and the youngest Weasley boy were butting heads again, just around the turn of the corridor.

"_Ferret." _

He scowled. Schoolboy nicknames were annoyingly persistent. Some of his own tormentors had had to die for the name Snivellus to be finally laid to rest.

"_Weasel. What do you want?_"

Draco sounded weary. The listener's lips pursed.

"_Less of your company," Weasley said._

"_Then why are you following me around?"_

"_I don't trust you, Head Boy or no Head Boy. Missing daddy, are you?"_

Ah, the boy was itching for a fight. It wasn't unusual; they'd been brought up to hate each other, after all, and their schooldays had been marked by periodic explosions of hostility. Presumably it was the Azkaban breakout fuelling this one. He wondered how his godson would deal with it.

"_That's hardly any of your business."_

He shook his head and sighed. Defensiveness was a poor defence; stonewalling like last year would have been more effective, and distraction better than all, but Draco's mask was slipping again this year. He'd never been very good at hiding his feelings.

"_You've been very quiet since he landed in jail, but now that he's out I bet your true colours will soon be showing."_

"_Yes, I imagine they will. Not that a brainless oaf like you would notice."_

The listener glided silently forward. Draco was losing his temper already. Any minute now, he'd have to intervene.

"_That's rich, coming from the git whose dad had to buy his place on the Quidditch team."_

"_Says the prat whose sister has to sha–"_

One more step took him around the corner.

"Put your wand away, Mr Weasley, and return to your Tower. Five points from Gryffindor for behaviour unbefitting a Prefect!" he snapped, staring down the redhead till he sullenly obeyed. He watched the boy out of earshot and turned to his godson, who was scowling at the floor.

"An appalling display. You have authority. Use it next time instead of screaming insults like a first year," he said.

Draco shrugged and turned his scowl to the opposite wall.

"He just gets my goat. Always stirring me about my father."

Snape drew himself up. The boy was almost as tall as he was now, but for his slumped shoulders and bent head. That only made him angrier, but he forced patience into his voice.

"All the more reason for you to think before you speak," he pointed out. "You are aware what's at stake. This is a time for alliances, not battles, and you cannot afford to let your temper rule your tongue."

Draco hunched a shoulder and muttered, "He's just as bad."

"He is surrounded by friends and you are not. His family is on the rise and yours –"

A pale face lifted and grey eyes burned into his.

"I know. Unless the Dark Lord wins, we'll be out in the cold."

Snape nodded grimly.

"Indeed. So guard your conduct. If you need a reminder, just imagine his sister's reaction if he told her what you almost said."

Draco winced and turned his head away.

"I'd get that bat-hex on my face again. Yes, all right, I know, I know. Just stop pretending you care!"

"I do not care less for you merely because I have new responsibilities."

Draco's face closed and his fists clenched.

"I can't bear to think of you two together," he said.

"Then don't. Nothing is gained by thinking about it. You know that I am sorry."

"How can you be sorry?" Draco spat.

"I'm sorry that you wish it otherwise. And I'm sorry that you choose to respond like a five-year-old crying for the moon. Last year, you controlled yourself in the face of much provocation. That's how you came to be made Head Boy. You earned it. This year, you must be even stronger."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Some time later, Hermione roused from an uneasy doze to find Severus leaning over her, his hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head from its untidy pillow of Transfiguration essays and blinked blearily up at him.

"Hermione," he repeated, shaking her again. It wasn't till he moved away, telling her to get up and go to bed, that she remembered why she'd been waiting up.

"Severus!" She jumped up and hurried after him, clutching at his sleeve. He had passed her door and was nearing his own. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

He stopped walking, but he didn't turn towards her or relax his stiffness.

"I know," he said.

He sounded weary. How long had he been tramping the halls before returning to face her? She'd wanted to make his life better.

"But you're still angry with me," she said. She didn't dare hug him, but she let her forefinger stroke back and forth where she held him and he didn't push her away.

"Not angry as such. You try my patience sometimes."

"I didn't know you had any," she retorted incautiously, biting her lip a moment too late. _Idiot!_

"Not very much," he agreed in a level voice. "Especially when you revert to the bossy, loudmouthed eleven-year-old who has to know everything, whether it's her business or not."

He didn't have to say his life outside these walls was none of her business. She heard it loud and clear and her hand fell away from his arm. She stepped back and turned away.

"Sorry," she said, gulping back a hard spiky lump that was trying to crawl out of her throat.

"Don't apologise," he said. "I should be grateful to you. I am grateful. Just try not to pull my choke-chain so hard next time."

He should have been shouting. It would hurt less to be shouted at.

"I – I wasn't. Pulling your chain or, or trying to boss you around. It had nothing to do with that." She sniffed and swiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I never meant to put you under obligation to me. You can't seriously think that that was ever part of my intention."

"It's late. I've no energy for another hysterical scene tonight. May I," his voice sharpened to sarcasm, "go to bed now?"

"You're not being fair," she muttered. He was never fair. All the times he'd taken points from her friends when it was his Slytherins at fault rose and paraded in front of her eyes; all the sneers and the jibes and the cold words of reprimand. She blinked the prickle from her eyes. "I told you I don't want you obedient. I told you to do as you pleased. I'm not your master. I refuse to be your master."

"Not my master; my mistress."

"Not your mistress; your wife!" She closed her eyes and fiercely scrunched away the prickling. "Do you even like me?"

"Haven't I said it clearly enough?"

"You haven't said it at all. Ever. I thought you said it to my parents, but it was just a trick, wasn't it? 'Admiration, trust and concern grow into affection,'" she quoted savagely. "But you never said you meant you and me!"

He tilted his head back and sighed.

"Will you be satisfied if I say it now?"

Her eyes wandered along the rigid lines of his back, over straight shoulders and stiff arms and one clenched fist. He still wouldn't look at her. Her lips trembled.

"Will you mean it?" she said.

"I always mean what I say," he said through gritted teeth.

"Except when certain considerations interfere," she reminded him. "Is this one of those times?"

"Would I ask you to be yourself, if I didn't like that self?"

Now it was her turn to grit her teeth. _Always with the equivocations! Couldn't he say anything plainly?_

"I don't know. Would you?" she insisted.

He half-turned so that he could look at her over his shoulder.

"Do you trust me to tell you the truth?" he asked.

_Do you trust me? _The words hung in the air between them and she wanted to say yes. Yes, she did trust his integrity. Yes, she did trust his loyalty. Yes, she did trust his intentions. But he still hadn't said whether this constituted one of those times.

"Can I?"

His lips tightened. For a long moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer.

"On this point, always."

She waited. And waited.

"Well? _Do_ you like me?" she asked again.

His lips curled.

"Sometimes."

Her face was too stiff to smile, but she tried.

"Is now one of those times?"

"You've interrupted my work, interrogated me and insulted my character tonight and you want to know if I like you at the moment?" He exhaled a long, exasperated breath. "Go to bed. "

"That wasn't an answer," she said stubbornly. Why was he always so slippery? _You'd be slippery too if your life had depended on it for twenty years, _her head reminded her.

"It's all the answer you deserve," he said.

Her shoulders slumped and she put a hand to her bedroom door.

"I suppose that means no," she said, pulling it open.

"No." He paused and added, "It doesn't. But you don't deserve to be told so tonight."

She slammed her door behind her.

**A/N Canon doesn't mention lessons on Ethics so I've decided to give Hogwarts the benefit of the doubt and assume they're incorporated in other subjects.**

**Yes, I know Hermione's breing unreasonable here. Being reasonable with one's loved ones is a very hard skill to master. Some people never do.**


	20. Penitential Activity

PENITENTIAL ACTIVITY

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. I am posting this on schedule, despite the probability that many readers will be too busy watching and discussing the movie to read fanfiction, but I can't guarantee to have the next chapter up in a week.**

Severus was dismembering a horned toad the next morning when Hermione went to his office.

"Have you come to brew?" he asked, his hands not even pausing as he cut off and sectioned the tail, deftly avoiding the fringe of spines on each side.

She closed the door behind her and came to stand near him.

"To talk, but I'm happy to help," she said.

Without missing a beat, he nodded over to the far corner, where stood a large tub and a small sack.

"There's a vat of Italian Crested Newts waiting to be disembowelled, if you like. I'd recommend gloves."

She made a face. He wasn't wearing gloves, but she supposed his hands were calloused enough not to feel the occasional prick.

"That's the sort of job you'd give in detention."

"I should not presume to give my wife detention," he said smoothly. She was sure he was smirking from behind the curtain of his hair.

"Not even if she deserves it?" she asked.

"If you feel the need to engage in some sort of penitential activity, I shall, of course, be delighted to oblige, but I shall certainly not impose it on you. Do you think you deserve it?"

You know I do," she said, closing her eyes for a long moment. "I can't believe I said those things to you! I didn't mean them." She pleated a fold of her robes between her fingers, released it and pleated it again. "I wanted to be calm and pleasant and – and say all the right things, but it was as if something else took over my mouth and all the nastiest things came pouring out and they weren't even true!"

He cocked his head, his hands still busy.

"Something else?"

She looked up into his face. He seemed to be absorbed in his work.

"Not really 'something else'. I'm not saying I was under Imperio or anything ridiculous like that. It's just that I didn't recognise myself last night. I – It didn't feel like it was me saying those horrible things." She bit her lip. "But I know it was. I'm sorry."

"I told you last night that you need not apologise." His eyes slid sideways briefly and the tightness around his mouth relaxed slightly. "Surprising as it may seem, I do understand. I suspect the force that was controlling you was simple jealousy."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Yet you needed to ask me whether I care more for the Malfoys than I do for you. You resented the fact that I spoke to Draco about his father before I spoke to you."

She looked at his hands because she could no longer look at his face. The knife flashed as it chopped and she could feel a pulse in her throat beating in rhythm. She blinked hard a few times and gulped down bile.

"Why aren't you more angry with me? I as good as told you that I didn't trust you –"

"Twice."

She winced. First there had been her intrusive questioning about his oldest friends, then her evasive answer about trusting his word. She hadn't meant either to be taken as accusation, but she could see how easily he could. She rushed into speech.

"And it isn't even true. I do trust you. I always have, except for a few months in first year."

He gave her a pursed-lips glance and started on another horned toad.

"A few months? At least seven, as I recall. You set me on fire in November and believed me a villain until June. But it isn't necessary to keep digging up the ancient past, I hope."

"I thought it wasn't, at first. Now, I'm not so sure," she admitted.

"You were not so curious, when you jumped into this marriage. I don't recall you asking any questions about my past. You seemed quite convinced of my honour then. What has changed?"

"Nothing! Of course I still trust your honour!"

He arranged another leg and severed it at the joint. Then another.

"Nothing? We have made no progress in our relationship then, no move towards a better understanding?"

"I meant, nothing that would make me doubt you. Of course we've made progress in getting to know each other." She paused and reconsidered. "Not as much as I would have liked, though. You keep wriggling out of every direct question I ask."

"I wriggle, do I?"

There was that teasing glint in his eye. Sighing in relief, she took a step closer.

"You know what I mean. It's so hard to get a straight answer out of you."

"It's hard, is it?"

He glanced sidelong at her and she glanced back.

"Very hard," she said, remembering the iron of his arm muscles under her fingers last night and the same strong arms encircling her on his return from his last summons. It was so like him, somehow; the same strength used to deflect as to protect.

Her breath caught as his mouth twitched suddenly.

"You're teasing me again," she accused.

He smirked.

"If you don't want to disembowel newts, there's a sack of stag beetles that need their antlers and eyes removed," he said. "Only a hundred; you should easily be able to finish them before breakfast."

She glared sideways at him.

"That still sounds like a detention," she said suspiciously.

"It's not a detention if you do it willingly. Unless you imagine I'm giving myself a detention at this moment?"

She grimaced.

"Oh, all right. I did offer, I suppose."

"You did, but I won't hold you to it. No doubt I can find another misbehaving Gryffindor to saddle with the task. I have the seventh years today."

She scowled at him. He was smirking again, the smirk that speeded up her heartbeat and weakened her knees, when she didn't want to slap it off his face. Or even when she did.

"Let me guess. Harry or Ron. Or Neville."

"Probably not Mr Longbottom. He's a remarkably law-abiding boy, except when your other friends lead him astray, and they have no opportunity to do so while he's working at Draco's table."

"How's that working out?" she asked, picking up the sack and carrying it over to the other end of his table. She undid the ties and looked inside. They were adult males and they seemed to be dead. At least there was no chance of a painful bite.

"Better than I expected. The boy seems to have grown into himself. He may make a competent brewer yet." He took another horned toad and began again.

"I never thought I'd hear you praising Neville." She dumped about twenty beetles onto the table. It was fiddly work to tweeze out the eyes. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she doubted he'd have trusted the job to any of her friends. They weren't neat-handed enough. _Tease!_

"You never thought you'd marry me." He raised an eyebrow. "At least, I hope you did not?"

Laughing, she shook her head. Then she sobered.

"Would that have been so terrible?" she asked, conjuring a slim lamp of blue fire and setting it down where it would shed the best light. She picked up a beetle in one hand and the tweezers in the other. "I wouldn't have thought you cared what silly dreams your students might come up with."

"Not in general. But it's well known that passions distort judgement and I had rather that your decision to marry me was inspired by judgement than by passion."

"I don't understand that at all," she said frankly. "To me, it always seemed that marrying someone you love would be infinitely better than a marriage based on – on calculation. Marriage is far too important to be so cold-blooded about!" She blushed. "Even if that's kind of what we did. I don't mean to say I'm sorry it worked out this way, because I'm not, not now; I just think this would be so much easier if we'd been fond of each other at the start. I mean, if we hadn't had to be forced into looking at each other. No, that's not it, either." She dropped her hands to the table and hung her head. "I should just shut up now, shouldn't I?"

"You are digging yourself a deeper hole with every word."

"I know what I want to say, at least I do some of the time, but it keeps coming out wrong," she muttered.

"Perhaps it's fortunate then that I've had sixteen years of disentangling the muddled thought processes of adolescents."

She picked up another beetle and positioned it carefully.

"I wish you'd stop telling me that I'm a child," she said.

"Perhaps I would, if your conduct did not so frequently remind me."

She flinched and had to bite the inside of her cheek very hard.

"I'm sorry," she said in a muffled voice. "I suppose I deserved that after last night."

He didn't answer immediately.

"No. You didn't."

She looked up to find him watching her with that rare gentleness that transformed his face. If her hands hadn't been covered in beetle bits, she'd have reached out for him.

"It was inevitable that you'd want to know the full extent of my youthful follies and friendships, once the blinkers of idealism fell away and you faced the reality of my life," he continued. "How can I put the past behind me when I have to continue pretending to be part of it?"

She breathed in painfully.

"You can't."

"You must accept my boundaries, Hermione. There is so much I can't talk to you about, and times when even silence is too much information. Your persistence is an admirable characteristic, but it must be reined in. I know it will be hard." There was no trace of teasing this time. "It goes against your character to accept a dead end to your searching, but you must."

"I'll try." While he looked at her like that, she couldn't look away. "If my Occlumency gets good enough –"

"It's not a question of Occlumency. It's a question of trust."

"I've always trusted you!" she reminded him.

"You've trusted my honour. Have you ever trusted my judgement?"

Her eyes dropped before the blaze in his.

"I'm sorry," she said uselessly.

"What you don't know about, you can't go haring off to try to fix," he told her. "I know your intentions are good, but sometimes that just isn't good enough. Promise me."

"I promise."

"And I promise in return to be honest with you in everything else. I think we need that."

"I suppose that will be as difficult for you as not asking questions will be for me," she said.

"I forget sometimes that what was appropriate for the last six years no longer applies." He looked down at his hands and resumed cutting off the legs of the bloodied lump in front of him. "But you knew my temper, when you chose to marry me. I imagine you cannot have expected better."

"No," she admitted, likewise continuing with her own task of tweezing out beetle eyes. "If anything, I expected worse."

"Reckless child, to marry me anyway." With swift, sure strokes, he cut the legs apart at the joints.

"I don't regret it," she said.

He replied so softly she almost wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

"I hope you never will."

**A/N In canon, Snape gives a detention of disembowelling "horned toads", but they are actually lizards, not toads. They have blunt snouts, short, rounded bodies and broad, flat tails, sharp horns at the back of the head and temples, and a fringe of spines along the tail and sides. **

**Newts exude toxins, but are safe enough to handle if you wash your hands thoroughly. However, handling a vatful with bare hands would probably pose more of a risk.**

**Stag beetles are now a protected species. Adult males reach approximately 5 cm/2 inches in length. The "antlers" are actually mandibles (front jaws), which males use to fight each other. Females are more aggressive and likely to nip the handler. **


	21. The Worst Mistake

THE WORST MISTAKE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewer, Bellegeste. **

**The story so far:  
Linked to Snape by a recurring dream-prophecy that warns of his death, Hermione marries him to save him, in the process accepting a position as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts. She soon realises that he feels obliged to repay the debt of her life and her future in kind, by honouring her wishes, even agreeing to such unappealing tasks as resuming Occlumency lessons with Harry (as long as she joins them) and allowing Neville back into Potions class (with Draco as his tutor/partner). Snape's Death Eater duties, which include assisting in Lucius Malfoy's escape from Azkaban, are a source of both contention and connection.**

"It's getting on for two months," Ginny announced cheerfully, as the door closed behind Hermione's husband. She was alone this time as the boys were still working on their Charms essays. "Are you planning a celebration?"

Hermione couldn't remember ever being young enough to see two months of alliance as a significant relationship milestone.

"You mean like a party, where all our friends attend to remind us of how happy they are for us both?" she said acidly. She snapped her fingers and a lavish tea for two appeared. "I _don't_ think so."

Ginny cut two slices of her favourite seedcake and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"No, silly, a special night for just the two of you."

Hermione shrugged and shook her head, unable to imagine asking her conscientious husband to skive off marking and patrolling and all their other duties for an evening away, even if she could be sure he wouldn't be summoned in the middle of it.

They'd settled into a sort of comfort with each other, through the long, busy evenings and quiet early mornings of working together over a desk, a table or a cauldron. There was a rhythm to her life, a reassuring implicit contract to work through difficulties and differences together, but she didn't really feel married, not completely. She couldn't interpret his silences or share his secrets; she never knew what he was thinking.

"You are still glad you married him, aren't you? Haven't suddenly come to your senses and decided it was the worst mistake of your life?" Ginny's merry voice took the sting out of the suggestion.

"Of course I haven't."

What did he want out of their marriage? He accepted and even reciprocated her occasional tentative caresses, a hand on the arm, a touch on the cheek, even, when she was very daring, a hug, but he never initiated them. One of these days, she was going to grab him and snog him into next week and if she couldn't persuade him into her bedroom, she'd levitate the ruddy mattress into their living room. But she hadn't quite worked up the courage to do it in cold blood.

"You look very determined about something," Ginny said, between bites. "Am I allowed to know?"

Hermione blushed and busied herself with choosing the two fluffiest scones and splitting them.

"Trust me, you wouldn't want to."

"It's about him, then. Don't you ever think about anything else? You know, there was a time when your thoughts revolved mostly around your own homework and keeping Harry and Ron out of trouble and bent over theirs."

"I wasn't very successful at it," Hermione admitted, hesitating between strawberry, raspberry and blackcurrant jam. She hoped she'd be more successful with her husband. Not that it was homework she wanted him bent over, at least not unless conjugal rites could be classified as such. She let her hair fall over her face to hide her guilty smile. Ginny saw far too much sometimes. "I still care about Harry and Ron. And you and Neville, of course."

"Of course you do. But you care about him more. Don't apologise, it would be worse if you didn't. It's just that I miss the old you sometimes. The one who was always there."

"Always in the library, you mean." Hermione's hand was still hovering, but her eyes were on her friend's face.

"Yes, but we could go find you any time we wanted to talk. We can't just barge in to your office now you're a teacher, and even if we could, half the time you drift off into a sort of dream and it's obvious you're only half-listening."

"Sorry." She chose a dish at random.

"I said don't apologise." Ginny sighed. "I'm just being selfish. I'm sure there were plenty of times when we did the same to you, when Harry was mooning over Cho or we were all jabbering on about Quidditch. Speaking of which, do you get that from Snape too or is it just a House thing for him? He comes to every Slytherin match and I remember Ron writing home in first year that he even refereed once."

"He never mentions Quidditch to me at all and, you're right, I can't tell you what a relief that is. But I do sometimes hear him and Minerva going at it, especially now that the first match is coming up. We are going to win again, aren't we?"

She hoped he wouldn't sulk about it. What might she do to persuade him out of his sulks? She realised she was licking her lips, and hastily slathered blackcurrant jam and cream on a scone.

"Sure to. I hear the new Slytherin Chasers aren't much use." Ginny started her second slice of seedcake. "Not that you care and don't try to kid me that you do." They exchanged smirks. "You never did. That hasn't changed. It's just that you've gone beyond us and I notice it more every Sunday afternoon that we sit and talk here. We're still students and you've gone all adult and responsible. You always were, sort of, but it's more now. As if you have some big secret you're not allowed to tell us."

Hermione choked on her bite of scone and had to wash it down with a gulp of tea. Did Ginny know? Could she guess?

"Adulthood is like that," she said carefully. "The big secret isn't very exciting. It's just about taking responsibility, for yourself and for others, and knowing that there's no one to do it for you. You can't get away from it ever."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It had been a strange day. Severus had been summoned the previous night and Dumbledore was away again; rumour said, at the Ministry. Hermione was suppressing a yawn when she first noticed Harry shooting a burning look at her husband, who was lending half an ear to Pomona's enthusiastic discourse on her bumper crop of pumpkins for next week's Halloween Feast. She shot Harry a look of enquiry, but he only thinned his lips and turned back to Ron. The next time she looked in his direction, he was glowering at Severus again.

"What's that about?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, when Pomona stopped talking to eat. "You haven't put Harry in detention during Quidditch practice, have you?" In her lap, her hand clenched. She hoped it was only something like that.

Severus glanced up at Harry and his own eyes narrowed, but he only shrugged and said, "That boy's always throwing a tantrum about something. If it's anything of interest, you'll have an opportunity to ask him tonight."

He wouldn't be drawn at lunchtime or dinner either and by the time Harry slammed his way into the office for his Occlumency lesson, Hermione's insides were hollow with anxiety.

"Ron was right," Harry said without preamble, standing just inside the room, with one hand still on the doorknob and the other clenched around his wand. Severus regarded him silently over steepled fingers until he added, "He said you were only using Hermione to get at us and he was right! I saw you last night, you filthy traitor!"

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. Mind your manners in front of my wife."

Hermione stood up, resting one hand on her husband's shoulder. She knew what she ought to do, however reluctant she was to leave them alone together. She'd promised Severus to accept his boundaries; never mind that in the old days she'd have heard everything Harry wanted to share.

"Did you have another vision, Harry? If you want to discuss it with Severus, I'll leave. He doesn't like me to know what goes on there."

Harry gave a snort of bitter laughter.

"I'll bet he doesn't! And you're so ready to let him pull the wool over your eyes. What's got _into_ you, Hermione?" He cast her a scathing look. "No, don't tell me, I don't need those images in my head. It's disgusting."

Hermione flinched and long, pale fingers came up to cover hers.

"Fifty points, Potter, and it will be a hundred if you use such crude language to, or about, my wife again. Sit down and start from the beginning."

"Severus?" Hermione quavered as Harry, after a moment's hesitation, plopped onto the chair, his wand still pointing steadily at the loathed man in front of him. She'd promised not to pry, she'd promised. If he ordered her out of the room, she'd have to go.

Her husband squeezed her hand and released it, looking up at her straight-lipped and cold, while his other hand toyed with his quill.

"You'd best sit down too. If Potter knows, it is time that you know also," he said slowly.

Now that he was offering to share, she didn't want to know. Her lips trembled.

"Are you – Are you sure it's all right?" _Tell me it's all a misunderstanding. Tell me that Harry heard wrong or that you were lying, that it's just a trick._

Harry snorted again.

"What's happened to you, Hermione? You used to have a mind of your own and now you're letting this – this traitor tell you what to do!"

She didn't even look at him. She couldn't look away from the impenetrable black eyes that met hers with steady calm. Was that a shade of regret in his face or was she imagining? She gulped and Severus took her hand in his strong grasp again. This time, he didn't let it go until she was sitting beside him.

"You were supposed to be practising your Occlumency, Potter," he said. "Do I understand that you were once again neglecting what ought to be a priority? Do you wish more of your friends to die for you?"

"Maybe more of them will die if I don't neglect it. You're planning to hand us over to Voldem –"

"Don't say that name!" Severus snapped.

"Voldemort. I heard you!"

Hermione drew in a short, sharp breath. It didn't seem to reach her lungs but she was too cold to take another one. Severus hadn't contradicted him. He wasn't going to.

"Start from the beginning, Potter. You were asleep?" Severus put down the quill and began to trace his finger around his lips as Hermione watched him watch Harry. Her chest hurt.

"No, I was – It's none of your business what I was doing!" Harry flung back. "I could feel him and he was happy. He was congratulating Lucius Malfoy on a successful mission to Albania. Something about the Vampires agreeing to join him after – after something. I didn't recognise the word."

"Samhain, Potter, the Feast of the Dead. Halloween, in other words. And then?"

"And then he turned to you and asked how much longer you thought it would take you to work your way into my trust. And you said you believed you'd manage it by Easter and he could have me then. Well, you won't, do you hear? I know you too well. I'll never trust you, not even if you Obliviate me!"

Severus tipped his head back the better to glare down his nose at his student.

"And so, believing me to be a traitor, you chose to confront me in person without any friends to back you up? Dear me, Potter, had I known you trusted me so implicitly I could have promised you to him for tomorrow."

Harry's wand hand jerked.

"You don't even have your wand out," he said. The other man only smiled.

"But I suppose it was Hermione you were trusting." His gaze slid briefly to her white face. "No doubt you expected her to rise and rend me limb from limb. I do trust you had the sense to share your news with Mr or Miss Weasley before placing yourself in my hands?"

"You're trying to trick me into telling you who else knows! I'm not telling you, I'm not that stupid," Harry spat.

"Do you imagine anyone needs to be _told_ the identity of your confidants?" Severus glanced idly around the room. "I might even suspect they were here under your Cloak, if you'd slammed the door a little less hastily. Idiot boy, will you never use your brains? Were I indeed a traitor, confronting me would be the worst thing you could do."

"Dumbledore's not here. I thought – I thought I'd give you a chance to explain. For Hermione's sake."

"For Hermione's sake?" Severus echoed, his eyes on his wife as if seeking her reaction. She stared back at him and sense and warmth began to return through the ice. Yes, it was for her sake.

"It's not Severus's fault, Harry. It's mine," she began.

Harry jumped up from his chair, shaking his head disbelievingly.

"Your fault! What's wrong with you, Hermione, has he Imperioed you or something?"

"Harry –"

But Harry had already slammed out of the room.


	22. An Established Course

AN ESTABLISHED COURSE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic that is not HBP or DH compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

Hermione watched Harry storm out of the room, slamming the door even louder than when he'd entered.

"Shouldn't we go after him?" she muttered.

Severus gave the ghost of a laugh.

"He'll come to no harm. What can he do except wait for Dumbledore to return? He doesn't trust the Ministry enough to turn me in and he's hardly likely to jump me in the corridors if he didn't hex me when we were face-to-face."

"He might tell people." Ron and Ginny, for sure, and maybe Neville too, in hopes of detaching him from his Slytherin Potions tutor.

"He probably already has. It doesn't matter."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said with a gulp.

He stood up and walked over to stare down into the empty fireplace.

"I told you you'd regret this marriage," he said, with his back to her.

"Don't be silly." She got up too and walked over to stand behind him, not quite near enough to touch. "Do you think I don't know this is all my fault?" she said to his rigid back.

"It isn't."

"It was my idea for you to start teaching Harry and Neville again. I should have thought it through, shouldn't I? Of course it was bound to get back to You-Know-Who and you'd have to come up with some plausible explanation of why you were doing it. But why didn't you tell me? If you'd explained, I'd have backed down. And now I've put all of us in danger."

Her hands clasped and unclasped, blurring as she looked down at them with wet eyes. Then his hand brushed her cheek and she looked up to find him watching her with his most impenetrable expression.

"Hardly that. Do you imagine that I would have agreed to change an established course of action without consulting the Head of the Order?"

She opened her mouth and closed it slowly, staring at him. A hot, humiliated ache was rising from her breastbone.

"When? Do you mean you went and spoke to him that night we argued, before you came back and told me you'd do it?"

"Naturally."

Her fists clenched and she took a hasty step forward, too angry to be embarrassed.

"You slammed out of our room pretending you were furious with me and really you just went straight to Albus's tower to talk it over with him? I thought I'd upset you and I cried for hours and – and all the time you were just acting?" she hissed, nose-to-very large nose.

His mouth thinned to a line.

"As usual, you jump to the worst and least likely conclusion immediately. Of course I was furious with you, but once the proposal was on the table, I had to deal with it," he told her.

"You said you were perfectly capable of deciding what was for your own benefit without help from anybody," she quoted bitterly at him.

"What is for my own benefit, yes, but this is for the benefit of every witch and wizard and Muggle in the world. Unlike you and your friends, I'm not conceited enough to think I'm capable of deciding that by myself," he said.

At any other time, she'd have taken offence. Now, however, she brushed his insult away with a flick of the hand.

"I don't understand this," she said. "He agreed? You asked him whether to bait a trap with my friends – Was it just Harry or all of us?" She waited, but he walked past her and sat down at the desk again, picking up his quill and a parchment that might be her half-finished essay. "Severus?"

He didn't look up.

"Just Potter."

She followed him back and sat down too. It was her half-finished essay. She grabbed one corner, intending to pull it away, but he held tighter.

"You asked Albus whether to bait a trap with Harry and he said yes?" she probed.

He gave the parchment a tug, but she wasn't letting go either.

"We discussed your request and its implications and then I followed his instructions, as I always do," he said, scowling.

"Why would he agree to that? I thought he loved Harry." She jerked gently at the essay, not hard enough to tear it. His knuckles turned whiter.

"Gryffindors would risk many lives to save one," he said. "Slytherins would risk one to save many." The parchment slid out of her loosened grip and Severus set it down and smoothed it out.

"But Albus was a Gryffindor!" she protested.

"He was." He shrugged. "At the age of eleven." He allowed her a few moments to digest his comment before adding, "It isn't as heartless as you seem to think. He would have explained it all when the time came."

"When the time came!" She snorted, watching him resentfully as his eyes travelled down the essay. "Before or after you handed Harry over?"

"Before, of course," Severus said, circling something halfway down. She gritted her teeth. She'd have to rewrite it now. "Given his propensity to make a pig's dinner of every plan or strategy we try, it's probably safer to simply give him instructions ahead of time." He underlined a few words and added a question mark. "Of course, famous Harry Potter is too pigheaded to follow instructions. He has to know in October about plans that won't concern him until April."

Her fists clenched again.

"Do you have to be so cold about it? I know you don't like him, but he is one of my best friends."

He put down the quill and turned his head to glower down at her.

"Believe me, Hermione, I'm anything but cold about your friend. I've been protecting his ungrateful hide since before he was born and I've no intention of wasting all my efforts."

"What was Albus thinking?" Hermione said unheeding. "I mean, I have sometimes wondered what was in his mind all these years that he's encouraged Harry to run into danger. Our first year, for instance, when he brought the Stone into the school and Harry was convinced he'd planned things to give Harry his chance to fight Voldemort. It all seemed to make sense then, but when I look back … An eleven-year-old!" She shrugged, grimacing. "But this! I just don't know what to say. What would make him come up with a plan like this?"

"Perhaps you were right before. It is all your fault." He smirked as she shot him a glare that could sour honey. "You were the one who insisted on telling the headmaster about your dreams. When I told him you were insisting I resume the Occlumency lessons, he was strongly of the opinion that it was the second part of our dream-prophecy beginning to unfold."

She blinked at him.

"The second part? I thought that was just poetic flourishing. It just meant that if we got married, there was a chance everything would come right, didn't it?"

He turned around a bit more. Their knees knocked and she put out her hand to stop him recoiling. Their eyes met and the room was suddenly hot.

"Every word of a prophecy is important. If the second part told us no more than the first, there'd have been no need for it to be said at all." His voice was meltingly low.

"Oh. I suppose that makes sense," she said slowly and cast her mind back for the exact wording. _Should your lips seal our bond, broken may yet be mended, Hearts that were cold grow fond, and sorrow's grip be ended._ " 'Should your lips seal our bond…' That bit's obvious, I suppose. You had to kiss me at our wedding." It had been over so quickly she'd barely felt it. But his lips were soft in her dreams now.

"Indeed." His thumb stroked along the back of her hand and his bony knee pressed hers.

"And then 'broken may yet be mended' and 'hearts that were cold grow fondWhat does he think that means?" She said, looking down at the thumb and the strip of skin it moved along.

"Think about it, Hermione. What has the Sorting Hat been singing about the last few years?"

She forgot that she didn't want him to see what she was thinking and looked up at him wide-eyed.

"School unity!" she breathed. "Of course."

"Of course." The thumb was still, but his hand remained curled warmly around hers.

"Hogwarts is in danger … and we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within … Planting seeds of hatred … Dislike fills every heart that ought to stand as brothers …" she quoted again, slowly, dredging up the Sorting Hat's words from her memory. "And then it told everyone to learn from what it called 'this match of unity', meaning us. Why didn't I think of that?"

"I feel sure you don't want an answer to that question," he murmured provocatively.

She made a show of ignoring him, but she knew he'd felt her indignant twitch.

"But would it be enough?" she said to distract him. "The Hat sang about all four houses not trusting each other, and you and Harry learning to get on with each other only involves two. Not that you've been trying very hard to get on with him," she added sourly.

"Slytherin and Gryffindor are the strongest houses, as well as the most bitterly opposed. Albus believes that if they heal the rift, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff will follow. And I might add that I've been trying very hard to 'get on', as you put it, with Potter, but the boy's dislike is quite immovable."

She drew herself up in her seat, but he was still taller.

"You could try not insulting him with every other sentence," she pointed out.

"I never insult him. I merely point out his mistakes with strict accuracy."

"You called him idiot boy and implied that he had no sense!" She'd have pulled her hand out of his, but he was holding too tightly.

"It was true."

She opened her mouth to harangue him then sighed instead and shook her head.

"Never mind. I suppose if you didn't call him names, he'd think you were an impostor."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You know what's wrong with you?" The darker boy said, after he stopped coughing. "You rattle too easily."

The other boy ran a hand through white-blond hair and leaned against the closed door of the Potions classroom. He'd Evanescoed the smoke twice, but it would be a good ten minutes before they could go back in.

"It's your fault," he said. "If you hadn't startled me, I wouldn't have dropped in both stems at once."

"If you hadn't been holding both stems above the cauldron three minutes before it was time to put the first one in, you couldn't have dropped them both in at once," Neville pointed out, "but don't tell me what's bothering you if you don't want to. Snape likely to come and find us?" He gave a hunted look up and down the corridor.

Draco shook his head and let it loll backwards to rest on the door.

"He's got Potter with him for at least the next half-hour," he said. "Didn't you know? He gets remedial lessons from Snape and you get them from me. Advantage of being the Chosen Boy."

"You mean advantage of not being the Chosen Boy," Neville said, leaning against the door and staring at the opposite wall.

"You're not still afraid of him?" Draco said. "Haven't you noticed by now that his teeth aren't pointed?"

Neville smiled.

"Yeah, I have, thanks. But I can't see myself having friendly chats with him over a steaming cauldron, even if he is less likely than you to be the one that makes it boil over."

"Huh, you can talk!" Draco scowled.

The smile became a smirk.

"But you're the one who's got something to say," Neville pointed out. "I don't know what's bothering you this time, but it must be a biggie. This is only the second time in my life I can remember you botching a potion and both times were with me."

"I told you it was your fault. Your bad brewing is obviously catching."

Neville yawned ostentatiously and studied the ceiling.

The silence lasted while Draco let his head fall forward, rubbed his nose, closed his eyes and pinched the bony bit between them, his fingers sliding back and forth. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it and looked suspiciously to each side.

"I got a letter," he muttered at last, "from my father. He's been in – he's been away. Came back yesterday."

"Ah. Forgot your present, did he?" It had become a standing joke between them, Neville's mild reminder that one could be worse off than not getting the presents one asked for. One might have parents who were unable to give presents at all. Or, like Harry, one might simply not have parents.

Draco gave him a light jab on the arm.

"I was twelve!" he grumbled, but his mouth quirked into a half-grin. "Gryffindor twit!"

"Slytherin prat."

Draco's smile faded and he chewed for a while on his lower lip.

"He – he wants to know about the day he got caught. The day you six got caught. At least, that's what he's asking about." He rubbed his face. Anyone who'd ever been hit by the she-Weasel's Bat-hex had a sensory memory of the hideous event forever after.

"That was a year and a half ago. Why would he be asking now?" Neville said.

Draco's cheeks went pink and he stared at the floor. It was his fault. His father had gone from Azkaban straight to Albania. Yesterday was the first time he'd been home in all that time.

"He was clearing out his desk and he found the letter I – I wrote that night, before I knew that he – that he wouldn't be receiving my letters any more. I told him – well, I don't really remember, but I suppose I must have told him everything. How she called my godfather in for some Veritaserum for Potter and he said she'd used it all. How Potter yelled nonsense at him and he told Crabbe not to hold you so tight. How he found us after you'd got away and he rushed off to look for you. Everything." He dropped his head in one hand. "I was an idiot, all right? I didn't think how it would sound. I – I didn't even notice. And now my father's trying to pin down times."

Neville inhaled so deeply he started coughing again.

"So this is it then? You have to choose sides between your father and your godfather," he said when he could speak. "Are you wanting my advice or maybe testing the waters for a deeper plunge?"

"I can't side with Potter, can I?" Draco flung back his head hard against the door. Then he swore and rubbed the back of his head, wincing. "He's hated me since the moment we met."

"You could be pretty hateful once," Neville agreed. "But people change."

"Not in Potter's eyes," Draco said bitterly. "And even if you could convince him, there's still Weasel. He was born hating me. And me him, for that matter."

'Perhaps." Neville rubbed one finger from chin up to forehead, pushing his nose up then flat on the way. "But you do all have something in common now." He returned Draco's startled look with a long meditative glare. "You all wish at least one of the Snapes well."

**A/N The Sorting Hat songs Hermione quoted in this chapter came from OotP and ch 7 of this fic. **


	23. Melting Cauldrons

MELTING CAULDRONS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

**The story so far:  
Linked to Snape by a recurring dream-prophecy that warns of his death, Hermione marries him to save him, in the process accepting a position as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts. She soon realises that he feels obliged to repay the debt of her life and her future in kind, but his ready agreement to such unappealing tasks as resuming Occlumency lessons with Harry (as long as she joins them) and allowing Neville back into Potions class (with Draco as his tutor/partner) has wider benefits than the promotion of marital harmony... **

_You all wish at least one of the Snapes well._

Draco rolled Neville's words around in his mind and shook his head. As if Potter would believe that! Or Weasel, for that matter, but it was Potter's opinion that counted. It always was.

A little further along the corridor, Snape's door burst open and slammed closed. Neville jumped in alarm, then breathed out when he saw that it wasn't Snape. Harry turned to punch the wall, saw them watching him and paused, his fist still clenched and a flush of anger fading on his face.

"Speak of the devil," grumbled Draco. Then he reared his head back as Neville waved. "No, don't call him over, you idiot, I said I'm not talking to him."

Neville had bigger concerns than his friends' squabbles.

"Did Snape look busy?" he asked, his narrowed eyes staring past his black-haired friend to the heavy door as if he expected it to burst open and a fire-breathing Potions master to issue forth. "He's not going to follow you out, is he? I don't want him to catch me in the corridor when I'm supposed to be brewing."

"Then go, why don't you? What are you doing, anyway?" Harry pocketed his wand, but kept his hand on it, his eyes on Neville's companion.

"Potions disaster. Waiting for the smell to die down so we can go back in the classroom and try again," Neville said.

Harry blinked and scowled harder.

"Oh. You're still melting cauldrons?"

Draco hunched one shoulder and stared very hard at his hands, but Neville laughed.

"Yeah, something like that," he agreed.

Draco was relieved that Neville didn't seem to think Harry needed to know whose hand had dropped the alihotsy stems too early, but he could feel disdainful green eyes ranging over him, from bent head to tapping foot. Obstinately, he kept his head averted.

"You shouldn't be, if Malfoy was teaching you right. He probably sabotaged it on purpose," Harry said.

Draco winced. It wasn't true, but it was what anyone might think after seeing him make such an elementary mistake. He couldn't help glancing at Neville to see if he believed it at all. It didn't look like it.

"Why would he do a silly thing like that? Making more work for himself, as if he didn't have enough to do already?" Neville pointed out.

"Blackmail," Harry said. "If he ruins your potion, he can threaten to tell Snape and get you kicked out again. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they planned it between them. I always said it was strange that he let you back in the class."

"Barmy," muttered Draco to his clenched fists. "Completely barmy." This was not the time to hex the Boy Wonder. It was never the time to hex the Boy Wonder. More's the pity.

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry?" Neville asked, glancing askance at him. "We know why he let me back in. It was Hermione's idea, remember?"

"Huh! I bet that's just what he wanted her to think. He's a traitor, just like I always said he was, and I hope he gets what's coming to him."

Draco's lips tightened on angry words. Potter was a wart, but nothing would be gained by telling him so. Snape would only remind him again about alliances and consequences and not letting his temper rule his tongue, and it wasn't as if Draco had an answer to that. It was hard to argue with obvious truth, after all.

"Don't tell me you've had another fight with him," Neville said. "I know we've had our differences in the past, but Dumbledore trusts him, and you can't think Hermione would have married him if he was a traitor."

"She just doesn't want to see it, that's all. I've been telling her for years not to trust him, but she never listens."

Draco rolled his eyes and kept the snide comment about the relative size of Potter's and Hermione's brains to himself.

"Hermione's the cleverest girl I know," Neville said. "The cleverest girl any of us know. Look at Umbridge. Hermione knew what her little game was, right from the start. At the Sorting Feast even. Remember? She said Umbridge's speech meant that the Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts and she was right."

"Yeah, but that was just Umbridge. What about Lockhart?"

Draco rolled his eyes again. Because his godfather and Lockhart just had so much in common, like wavy blond hair and killer smiles. Ri-i-ight. Although he supposed you might call Snape's smirk a 'killer smile' … smile of a killer, anyway. Since he was, or had been – he wasn't sure which, Snape was too cagey – a Death Eater and they weren't noted for their pacifism.

Neville shook his head, lips pursed.

"All the girls were keen on Lockhart, at first, though. It wasn't just Hermione."

"What about Spew? She's nuts about house-elves, and if you ever met Kreacher –"

"She is a bit soft-hearted," admitted Neville. "But Snape's no house-elf. And if you want my opinion, I think Hermione's fair soppy about him, and he seems to like her all right too."

"Or he's pretending to like her until he lures us all into his trap. He was always horrible to her before this year!"

"Well, you know he thinks all students are lower life-forms. Except Draco, of course." He glanced at the blond in question, who grimaced back at him and cast exasperated eyes to the heavens. "But that should have been a clue that he is capable of liking people and he isn't horrible to people he likes. It makes me wonder, actually, how he'll treat us after this year, when we stop being lower life-forms and turn into fellow-adults. I never thought I could possibly think so, but he could turn out to be quite decent."

"Or he could turn out to be playing both sides and that's a heap more likely. Well, he can't do that forever without someone catching on and then he'll get what's coming to him." Harry smirked almost as gloatingly as Snape did when taking fifty points off Gryffindor.

Draco's patience had never been great.

"You said that before. What's that supposed to mean, exactly?" he said, narrowing his eyes and pushing out his chin. "He's the best teacher in this rotten place, and the best head of house too, I bet. Gets what's coming to him from who?"

"Who do you think? Old snake-face!"

"Harry, I don't think – You can't have thought – It wouldn't be very healthy for anyone connected with him if that happened," Neville protested.

"She should have thought of that before she married him," Harry grumbled. "Mrs Greasy Git, ugh!"

Draco lunged at him. He sidestepped and caught Draco a glancing blow on the shoulder, his other hand scrabbling for his wand. Draco turned and aimed at his mouth, catching a knuckle on a tooth. Forgetting the wand, Harry punched back harder. Neville gaped at them, his lips drawing back from his teeth, and shook his head in disgust.

"Stop it! Stop it, both of you!" he ordered in a carrying whisper. He was taller than Harry and broader than either, but not strong enough to pull them apart. He glanced away from their scuffle to Snape's unmoving door and back again.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he cast, hoping its effect would be halved between them. If they fell too hard, Snape might hear anyway and come out to investigate.

They flew apart, their wands clattering onto the floor at his feet. Draco banged into the wall. Harry landed awkwardly on one foot and crumpled to the floor. Neville stooped to grab their wands, one eye cocked at the door to Snape's office.

"You idiots," he said unsympathetically, as they rubbed their sore parts and glared at each other. They turned as one and glared at him. "If you must brawl, don't do it so near Snape's office, and not during my Potions tutoring. Draco, you could check if the classroom's usable yet. And Harry, think before you speak next time. You know You-Know-Who wipes out whole families. Hermione's been your best friend since first year. Do you really want something nasty to happen to her, just because you don't like Snape?"

Harry reddened and got awkwardly to his feet, limping a little.

"No, of course that isn't what I meant. I was just saying she should have known better than to marry him, is all," he said, shooting a flaming glance at Draco, who was still wincingly rubbing his elbow. "He's a traitor. I know he is and she won't listen."

"Perhaps she's thinking that she knows him a bit better than you do," Neville pointed out. Still no sign of Snape; lucky the walls were solid stone and didn't carry sound well. He breathed out at last.

"But she doesn't see him when -" Harry stopped and glowered in Draco's direction. "I'll tell you later when _he's_ not around."

"It's a bit late to go all caring and discreet now, isn't it?" Draco snarled. "You've said far too much already. You think he's playing both sides, so that means you must think he's in contact with Death Eaters or a Death Eater himself, and, since Dumbles obviously trusts him in spite of it, he must be a spy. If you think I'm likely to rat him out to You-Know-Who, you've already dumped him right into my hands and Her – her right with him." That had been a close call. His cheeks pinked, but luckily Potter was far less discerning than Neville.

"Silly to think he'd want anything bad to happen to Snape, anyway! You just saw how mad he got at you for wishing it," Neville added. "Tattling to You-Know-Who is the last thing Draco would dream of doing. Look, we can talk about this later, if you still want to after you've thought about it. I'm going back to my cauldron, so I don't muck things up in class tomorrow. I'm still only on probation; remember? You can both have your wands back if you're sensible enough not to use them."

He gave Harry a meaning glance together with the wand. Harry pocketed it slowly.

"I didn't mean I wanted Hermione to get hurt. You know I didn't," he said.

"Could have fooled me," Draco muttered.

"None of us want the Snapes to get hurt," Neville said over him, giving Harry a straight look. "Anything that hurts one has to hurt the other, and that means you don't want Snape hurt and Draco doesn't want Hermione hurt. It's that simple."

"You're talking as if you trust Malfoy," Harry said, staring back. "How can you? He hates us, he always has, and he calls people Mudblood and his dad's a Death Eater!"

"I know about his dad, thanks very much. As for the rest, maybe you should look again."

"He's been a git to all of us for six years. He used to bully you ragged. You can't have forgotten!"

"And now he doesn't." Neville shrugged and opened the classroom door just enough to sniff the air. He nodded and opened it wider. "I used to be a duffer, and now I'm not. People change. If you let them."

Draco followed him in, closing the door in Harry's face, and accepted his wand in silence, before fetching a new set of ingredients from the store cupboard. Neville checked the cauldron was clean and set it back in place, lighting a fire under it and adjusting it to give medium-low heat. For a long while, neither of them spoke or even looked at each other.

"In a way, he's right though," Draco said at last, stepping back from the cauldron to give Neville access. "Why should you trust me? You know what I'm like."

Neville finished counting stirs before he answered.

"I trust your intentions. Maybe you're not the person I'd expect to pull me out of a burning building, I'll admit that. But is that the most important quality in a friend?"

Draco picked up an alihotsy stem and put it down again, when Neville's meaning glance reminded him that there was no sense in reproducing the same explosion as last time.

"In times of war, it easily could be," he pointed out. "Pulling you out of a burning building, covering your back in a fight, keeping your secrets under torture. It could be the difference between life and death, and I don't know that I'm capable of any of it."

Neville shrugged, his eyes on the potion, as silver-grey darkened to dove-colour, then slowly blushed carmine to a dull maroon.

"I don't know that I am, if it comes to that," he said, when the process was complete.

Draco lowered the stem into the exact centre of the cauldron, letting go an inch before his hands touched the potion. He picked up the second stem and waited for the puffs of smoke to cease.

"You!" he said. "Of course you are, you're as Gryffindor as anyone. Even Potter."

Neville folded his lips and shook his head.

"I haven't been. But I'm trying to be now."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Severus." He was still holding her hand too tightly for her to pull away. She squeezed back. "The vampires –"

He shook his head at her, his lips compressed.

"Don't ask."

"I wasn't going to. Not about his plans for them. Only – only – they're not personally dangerous to you, are they? You won't be in any more danger than before?" She gulped and bit down on the inside of her cheek, preferring to feel that ache than the preparatory tingling of her eyes and the tip of her nose. "I just wish there was something I could do."

His hand was warm and rough in hers and his thumb was stroking her again from knuckle to wrist.

"There was something you could do. You did it. If I live through this term, it will be because you married me and conscripted your friends unknowingly into the task of keeping me alive. I don't forget that, if you do." One corner of his mouth twitched up. "And I look forward to seeing their faces on the day that's explained to them."

She ducked her head and grinned briefly.

"But what if it's not enough? I get so scared for you. Every time you go out of the room, I wonder whether you'll ever come back."

"I've wondered the same, for more years than you've been alive. Even during the quiet years, it was always at the back of my mind." He reached out with his free hand, rubbing a finger gently against her cheek then gathering up her other hand into his. "I can't promise anything. All I can say is that if I can, I will. You've given me a reason to want to," he told her. Their eyes locked. "Never doubt that."

**A/N I have written "Spew" rather than "S.P.E.W." because Harry and Ron tend to call it that in canon, much to Hermione's annoyance.**


	24. Under Duress

UNDER DURESS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

The Room of Requirement had produced a scarlet sofa, big enough for three, and two squishy yellow armchairs. There was a hairy rug at their feet, a rickety table with a tea-kettle in one corner and a case full of Defence Against Dark Arts books in the opposite corner. Ginny and Harry were sitting at each end of the sofa and Ron sprawled across a chair. Luna, whom they'd met on the way and invited spontaneously, sat on the rug, one knee bent and her feet buried in fibres, her back against the footrest of the other chair.

"We know you know what you saw," she said, smoothing the fibres nearest her right hand and twisting them into small bunches. "The question is whether what you know you saw was what you thought you saw or whether it only looked like what you thought you saw."

The boys stared at her in incomprehension. Her head was bent over her plaiting.

"Spies tell lies all the time, you know; they have to," Ginny agreed. "Just because he said it, doesn't mean he meant it."

"Of course he meant it. He hates me, just like he hated my dad."

Harry's eyes wandered to the bookcase in the corner. If Hermione had been here, she'd have checked it out first thing and would now be sitting in the other armchair with a pile of thick tomes next to her on the seat. He missed Hermione. Why did she have to marry that git? How could she? He glowered at the topmost shelf, where a set of tall green volumes jostled for space with a set of thick red ones.

"People Snape hates have a way of ending up dead," Ron added and Harry nodded emphatically. Why couldn't the girls see it?

"We're in a war," Ginny retorted. "Wars have a way of making people end up dead. You can't just assume it's always Snape's fault."

He slammed his hand down on the cushion between them and left it there, ignoring the rebound ache that spread up his arm.

"It was his fault Sirius died! He was always taunting him!"

Ginny's hand touched his stiff fingers and slid off to rest beside his hand in silent invitation. He ignored it, his mouth thinning as he remembered what Hermione had said. _Sirius would still have gone to the Ministry. He loved you too much to sit at home when you were in danger. _'Maybe he would have,' he thought fiercely at her, 'but if he hadn't been so riled up, he would have been more careful!' Except that wasn't really true, was it? He blinked that away.

"Yes, but he didn't make him go. You told us Dumbledore said Snape tried to get Sirius to wait at home," Ginny said.

"That was just his sneakiness," said Ron. "He probably got in enough digs about housework to make sure Sirius went."

"It's possible," she admitted. "But everyone would have known. Even if he said it when the others weren't there, they'd have guessed it from Sirius's fuming. And Mad-Eye doesn't like Snape any more than you do. If he suspected him of sabotaging Sirius or anyone in the Order, he'd have said so loud and long enough for even us to hear about it."

"It's a pity he didn't ask for a brown eye instead of a blue one, isn't it?" Luna said, starting on another plait further down, about a quarter of the way between her hip and her knee. "They use Cyclops eyes in St Mungo's Prosthetics Department, of course. And it's always the blue-eyed ones that go mad, I thought everyone knew that."

Ron, as the only blue-eyed person in the room, was inclined to take offence.

"If anyone's loony here," he began, but stopped as Ginny burst out laughing and even Harry had to hide a grin.

"That would explain you _and _Dumbledore," she told her brother.

"Oh, no, they're not Cyclopses," Luna replied.

Harry looked down hastily, his mouth twitching. Ginny's hand was still near his, her fingers shaking along with the rest of her. He turned his hand palm up on the cushion and she slid hers into it. Luna was on her third plait already, her fingers pulling, twisting and interweaving.

Ron decided it was his job to bring them back to the point.

"It's all very well to say that Dumbledore might have told Snape to offer up Harry – I suppose it could be a trap or a trick or a ploy to get him higher in the inner ranks or something – but, even if he did, that doesn't mean Snape's on the level. He could be planning to turn the trick into the real thing, when it's too late to stop him."

"The question is whether you think Voldemort and Snape combined are a match for Dumbledore," Ginny said.

"No," her brother retorted, "the question is whether Harry risks his life on believing they're not."

Luna began another plait. Already the outline of her right leg was beginning to take shape. She lifted her eyes briefly and sighed.

"I think the real question is why vampires prefer onion soup to ravioli," she said. "Maybe it's the colour."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Eight floors down, Severus lifted his eyes from his godson's letter and contemplated the boy himself, whose eyes were flickering over the familiar jars of dead things that filled the shelves.

"I presume you have a reason for showing me this?" he said.

Draco slumped in the hard chair and shook his head. "I'm not stupid. I can't prove it, but it had to have been you that warned Dumbledore where the Potterites had gone that night. McGonagall was still at St Mungo's and none of the other teachers knew. It would be very damaging to you if I wrote my father all the truth. What should I do?"

Severus sat back in his chair, tracing his finger slowly around his mouth. "Draco, are you asking me whether you should declare me a traitor to your father?"

The boy ran shaky fingers through sleek, blond hair, his eyes darting again around the room. He opened his mouth, shut it, licked his lips and tried again.

"No, I'm asking you to say why I shouldn't."

"If I was a traitor, I believe my answer would be obvious," Severus pointed out. "But if you're asking me to choose sides for you, I can't. It wouldn't be worth anything."

Draco's Adam's apple bobbed up and down several times. "You're my godfather. But he's my father. I don't want to betray either of you, but you've made it so I have to. It isn't fair. Why couldn't you both be on the same side?"

"You mean that you believe we should be running our lives according to your convenience?"

Draco gulped again. "You're cruel."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Of course. I'm a Death Eater. If you had not already decided to be silent, then confronting me with this would be very stupid, indeed. So should I surmise that you've made your decision?"

Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. "I love my parents. You're forcing me to betray them."

"I'm forcing you to nothing. If anyone is forcing a choice on you, it is your father, with this letter." Severus picked up the note in question and offered it back. It was snatched out of his hand and crumpled in his godson's fist, then shoved in a pocket.

"I need time," Draco cried.

Severus glanced down at the abandoned pile of Veritaserum essays in front of him. "You have none."

The boy dropped his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose any of you," he said.

Severus touched his finger to his lips and let it slide down and off his chin. His head tilted, greasy hair lying lankly along one cheek.

"Perhaps you should stop choosing between loyalties and think instead in terms of consequences," he suggested at last. "If I am a traitor and you don't tell your father, you increase his chance of returning to Azkaban. I doubt they'd order him Kissed, even if they regain control of the Dementors, although we can't entirely discount the possibility. Your mother, I imagine, would be held to be acting under duress. In consideration of your aid, they would most likely free her, on payment of a heavy fine. The bulk of the estates would be yours in trust and eventually in esse."

"And if I do tell him, you'll be tortured to death immediately. And Hermione too."

"A fitting end for a traitor, some would say," Severus countered, his finger tracing again around his thin lips. "You might be able to claim her life as a reward, after a suitably severe round of Cruciatus curses, of course. You'd probably be made to perform them yourself, but that would be an advantage; you'd hurt her less than they would."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "I couldn't hurt her at all."

"Not even to save her life?" Severus asked. "Do you lack the killer instinct a Death Eater needs?"

Draco's eyes flew open and his hands curled into fists. "You're cruel." He wanted to hex the smirk off the other man's face. But not with the Cruciatus curse, even after that.

"That's hardly news. Your Gryffindor classmates could have told you that any time in the last six years," the older man reminded him.

"Why did you do it?" Draco asked.

"Do what? Become a Death Eater? Stop being one? Marry Hermione?"

"You knew this could happen. How could you put her at risk like this?" Draco accused. Incredibly, one corner of his godfather's mouth twitched up, so briefly he wasn't sure he'd seen it.

"She knew this could happen. She thought I was worth the risk."

"Maybe she just doesn't have enough imagination to understand it," Draco said dully.

"I assure you, I left nothing to the imagination. She chose to marry me anyway. It should not surprise you. She's been at Potter's side against the Dark Lord ever since she was a first year and fear of the consequences has never stopped her yet."

"I wish I was more like her," muttered Draco. "I'm always afraid."

"So is she. More for her friends than herself though." He glanced at his pile of marking again and straightened it, at right angles to the edge of the desk.

Draco sat up and squared his shoulders.

"What do I write to keep you safe?" he asked and saw the long pale hands still.

"Stick to what you saw yourself and say the rest was rumour that you can't substantiate. Leave out your reasons for believing that none but myself could have warned the headmaster. You could perhaps suggest that you suspect Madam Pomfrey of having got the news out, because she seemed to be in a hurry to get you treated and out of the Hospital Wing. That would be non-committal enough to incriminate no one."

"You went into the Forest," Draco stated flatly.

"You didn't witness it yourself as you'd been hexed by … Miss Weasley, wasn't it? I was in a filthy mood the next day and you heard me complaining about tramping through the trees all night looking for Madam Umbridge, and narrow escapes from Centaurs and Acromantulas," was the smooth reply.

"And then?"

One finger tapped the parchments.

"And then you continue with your life and wait till the next letter, leaving me to deal with any inquiries or investigation your father might instigate. I am quite capable of doing so." Severus gave him a long straight look. "And you think. You have not, at this stage, irrevocably chosen a side. You could still write a full tale of this interview to your father, claiming you were trying to manoeuvre me into revealing my true loyalties, and be accounted a fool rather than a traitor."

"I don't suppose the Dark Lord suffers fools any more gladly than traitors," Draco muttered and flushed when his godfather looked down his nose, black eyes snapping.

"You don't imagine your father would tell him, do you? Even were it in his interest to be thought the father of a fool, which, of course, it is not. Never doubt that your parents love you, Draco. They would block an Avada Kedavra with their own bodies for you, if it came to it."

Draco flinched. "And if I shield you, I'm betraying them."

Severus picked up his parchments and tapped the bottom edges on the desk, in an unnecessary attempt to true them.

"You're choosing your own path," he said. "Every son does that sooner or later. It would be a great grief to your parents should you choose differently than they, a slap in the face. They did this for you. They wanted to build you a better world, as parents do. But in the end, it's for you to decide what world you wish to live in."

"Why didn't you just Obliviate me? Wouldn't that have been safer?"

Severus tapped the parchments again and laid them down, watching their passage. "On the contrary. Your father is expecting a letter of some kind from you. An unfavourable response is still less suspicious than a non-response or even than one of my dictation. Whatever questions should be raised, I can answer." He glanced up and back, one hand picking up his quill.

"How?" Draco asked, watching the quill tickle his godfather's jaw.

"Is not innocence the best shield of all?"

"Will the Dark Lord believe you innocent, if I tell him what you've said to me today?"

The quill paused and resumed more slowly.

"You wish the Dark Lord to think you a fool then?" Severus asked.

"Don't play with me, godfather. How would you explain all that you've said?"

"Nothing easier. I would not look a fool or a traitor if I said I'd been testing you. Once you had broached the subject in my presence, he'd expect nothing less from me than to test your loyalty."

"Then I'm lost either way. Tell and be Crucioed for a fool; don't tell and be killed for a traitor."

The older man shrugged, twirling the quill idly. "That is the problem with trying to sit on the fence."

Draco sank his head in his hands. "I should never have trusted you," he said bitterly. "You've betrayed my parents. How could I think you wouldn't betray me?"

"That's the world your father built, where self-interest always outweighs friendship and loyalty. Do you think he made a wise choice?"

Draco lifted his face to stare, pale eyes sunken as pebbles in snow.

"No. No, I don't," he muttered.

"You see, Draco," the older man replied softly, laying the quill on the table between them, "neither do I."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dumbledore was back for the Halloween Feast. Harry went to see him after it finished and was soon trying not to scowl across the headmaster's desk.

"I trust Severus Snape completely," Dumbledore said placidly.

"Yes, but you never tell me why," Harry said, leaning forward and putting both hands flat on the desk. "He hated my parents and he hates me and he's plotting to hand me over to Voldemort."

Dumbledore twinkled at him.

"I already explained, Harry, that he was acting under orders. You should resume your Occlumency lessons with him. When information you hear is more secure, then you can receive more information."

"You told me Voldemort didn't like being in my head. It hurt him too much," Harry reminded him.

"Indeed, but he can withstand the occasional pain for the sake of the end result. Occlumency is the beginning of the answer you seek."

"It's hard to let someone I don't trust rummage around my thoughts," Harry said.

The headmaster gave him a steely glance over half-moon spectacles.

"Yet you seem to have no objection to Voldemort doing so," he said pleasantly.

Harry winced.

"I'll study harder, I promise. But it would be easier to learn with Snape if I knew why you trust him."

Dumbledore smiled benignly.

"Because I can, my dear boy. Because I can."

**A/N I realise many of you have been hoping for an SSHG scene and can only promise a big one next chapter. **

**"In esse" is a legal term, meaning "in being; actually existing".**


	25. Turn Purple

TURN PURPLE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

"I take it back. I take it all back." Draco leaned back against the greenhouse wall and stared up through the umbrella-blooms and the shaded glass at the dark-clouded sky. "Everything I ever said about you being a wimp for being scared of my godfather. For having him as your Boggart in third year." His Adam's apple bobbed. "I've been afraid of so many things, but never of him until now."

Neville took another bite from the slice of toast he'd swiped from the breakfast table and watched the last few Bubotubers squirming in the soil, like giant black slugs. The season was almost over. Farther away the Flutterby bushes were quivering in a non-existent wind. He estimated they'd need pruning in about three weeks.

"I thought you were silly for not knowing his bluster was just show," Draco continued. "He's not like that outside school. When I was a kid and he came to tea, he'd let me chatter on at him until my mother'd send me out of the room for being a nuisance, and sometimes he'd slip me an extra biscuit when she didn't see. Now, I wonder if that was just show, too. Last night, he sat there and smirked and nodded, calm as you please, and told me how he could destroy my family with a word. If he wanted to."

"Does he want to?" Neville asked, swallowing his mouthful and taking another.

"He says not." Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. "And if we're all still alive by the end of the week, I'll know he meant it."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Safe in her husband's arms, Hermione could finally fall apart. She pressed prickling eyes and nose into his comforting warm chest and let loose the shudders she'd been restraining for an hour. He patted her back and waited till she began to still. The classroom was blessedly empty. He'd appeared at her door just as the last two third-years were filing out for morning break and warded it shut behind him once they were gone. She'd shrunk back just a little, expecting a furious rant, but he'd only looked at her and she'd stumbled forward and thrown herself into his arms.

"One hundred and fifty seven points from Gryffindor? Don't you think that was a bit excessive?" he asked her now.

She sniffed and squeezed one hand up between their bodies to rub at her eyes and nose.

"If they'd had more, I'd have taken more," she muttered, accepting the handkerchief he Conjured for her and rubbing harder at her face.

"Do tell Minerva that at lunch. I'd like to see her turn purple."

"She can't complain. She took almost that many from Gryffindor in one go in my first year."

"Ah, but if I remember correctly, there were three Gryffindor culprits, not one." He did like twitting her about her childhood misdemeanours.

"He deserved it," she said, balling up the handkerchief and stuffing it in her pocket to study later. It was a present of sorts, wasn't it?

"Indeed," he agreed. "And the detentions with Filch every weeknight for the next two months just as much."

"If you think it would placate Minerva, I suppose you could give the seven points back," she said and her mouth twitched. She hid her face in his chest again so he wouldn't see. His robes were scratchy and she sent up a silent thank you that they were still dry. The embarrassment of smearing body fluids over his clothes would have been unbearable.

"You did exempt me from the requirement to give points to Gryffindor, two months ago," he reminded her. "If you want to give them back, you'll have to do it yourself."

Gryffindor feelings were the last thing on her mind at the moment. She twisted her head to squint up at his face.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it, really I couldn't. I opened the drawer and suddenly there you were dead on the floor, looking just like in the dreams, and I knew it was a Boggart, of course, and I had to get rid of it immediately, in case it continued and they saw anything they shouldn't and Charades was the first thing I thought of!" she babbled. "Are you furious with me?"

"I should be. Thanks to you and young Mr Jamison, I'll never be able to say dunderhead in a lesson again, without a roomful of students going into shrieking hysterics of amusement." He glowered down at her, but spoilt the effect by tickling her cheek with a curl that had escaped from her bun.

"I'm sorry. I – Oh dear." She tried not to laugh. "Is that how you found out so quickly?" Of course that class had had to have him next after her, hadn't they?

"Indeed."

She let her head fall forward onto his chest and chewed her lip.

"Oh no. Your beautiful first year introductory speech."

He tucked the errant curl behind her ear and let his fingers trail to her exposed nape.

"I shall have to change the last line or it will produce quite the wrong effect. Someone's sure to tell the first years all about it on the train to Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry. That boy is like three Weasley twins rolled into one, but he can't have done it all himself. If I ever find out who helped him smuggle a Boggart into my desk –" She paused and thought for a moment. "Well, I don't know what I'll do, but Transfiguring him and any accomplices into ferrets and bouncing them up and down the corridor is sounding good right now. And don't remind me that we're not supposed to use Transfiguration as punishment, because if it's not that, it will be something worse."

"Indeed?"

"You know something," she accused.

"Not to say know, exactly." His forefinger stroked gently down the ridge of spine on her neck. "But perhaps it was a mistake to pair Mr Jamison with that particular Slytherin in practical Defence classes. Mr Patil's cousins are not renowned for their discretion. I believe a third year Defence exam was mentioned, where you came out screaming about Minerva and failed exams."

"No one ever lets me forget that," she grumbled. Her eyes narrowed. "So one of your firsties helped him? And they knew about me being rubbish at Boggarts? That makes it ten times worse! Did they even think about what if I couldn't get rid of it? One hundred and ni-"

His admonitory forefinger was on her lips before she could finish.

"Leave Slytherin's points alone," he said. "I seem to recall that fostering inter-house cooperation was the reason you paired students cross-house. You should be rejoicing at your success." She scowled up at him as best she could without removing herself from his arms, and he added pointedly, "This can be your punishment for imagining a Boggart-me that was dund – brainless enough to mime 'sounds like … dead' instead of just pointing to the body-part in question."

She pursed her lips, but he was still better at glaring than she was.

"Oh, all right," she muttered. Actually, the class hadn't started laughing till the Boggart-dead-Snape jumped up and mimed 'first part ... sounds like … under', with wiggling movements of the fingers of its right hand as they passed under its left arm. "But I'm not letting him off the detentions."

"I should hope not," her husband said. "If we let students get away with playing dangerous pranks on their teachers, where will it all end? It will be exploding cauldrons next."

She blushed and let her head drop back onto his chest, saying, "All right, there's no need to rub it in." She grimaced and added, "It doesn't stop there, does it? People – outside – will hear about it. They might think they can use it. Use me. Because they'll know that I – that I'd do anything for you."

His arms tightened around her.

"I won't let you be used. At most, we may have to bring our plans forward, that's all. Now, tell me exactly how much they saw."

"Not very much. Just you lying d-dead on the – on the classroom floor, looking exactly the way you did in my dream. Blood dripping everywhere and your arms and legs at funny angles and huge rips in your teaching robes and – Oh!" Her mouth dropped open. "I never noticed that before. You were in your teaching robes, as if they'd kidnapped you from school."

"Yes, I know."

"You know? How long have you known?" she demanded.

"Albus and I have examined the dreams in a Pensieve more than once."

She looked up into his eyes, which had suddenly veiled into impenetrability, and gulped.

"What else didn't you tell me?"

"Why should you suppose there's anything else to tell? We shared the same dreams for three weeks, except for whose voice spoke the prophecy at the end."

"And then I took Dreamless Sleep Potion for the last four nights before we got married and the dreams stopped." She remembered his half-admission to having once been addicted and her eyes widened. "I took Dreamless Sleep," she whispered, "but you didn't, did you? No, of course you didn't." she answered herself. "I'm such an idiot, it never occurred to me!"

"There was no reason why it should have."

"There was every reason." She paused and gulped back her recriminations. Questions were more important. "What else did you see in those four nights that you didn't tell me about? Do you know when they took you away?"

"They didn't take me away. I'm here, as you can see."

"Don't play word games. This is too important! Do you know when they're likely to take you? What's the most dangerous time? Is it still to come or have we already passed it?" It was before December first. That was all she knew. If things were going to go wrong, it would be sometime in the next month. "And don't tell me I don't need to know! I do need to know."

Her hands clutched at his robes. He pursed his lips and gave her back look for look.

"I didn't see myself being taken," he said. "I can't tell you any more."

"Can't or won't?" she demanded.

"Both. You promised to trust my judgement, Hermione."

At that moment, there was a clatter outside the classroom door. Gently, he disengaged her clinging hands and pushed her away.

"Your next class is here, and that means mine are waiting for me downstairs. I must go."

He unwarded the classroom door as he spoke and yanked it open. Half a dozen second-year Hufflepuffs and one Ravenclaw who had been crowded against it stumbled forward into his path and scuttled past him with averted heads and "Sorry, professor" tumbling from their lips. Their luckier fellows drew aside to leave him passage and with a billow of his robes he was gone.

Hermione tangled a fist in her robes and swallowed down a lump in her throat.

"Come in, come in, all of you. No time to waste."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"If you just want to harangue me about taking all Gryffindor's points, I'm not in the mood," Hermione told Harry when he stopped her just before she entered the Great Hall for lunch.

He grimaced.

"Ron said Snape must be rubbing off on you, but he didn't see his mum crying over the Boggart of his dead body in Grimmauld Place. You really like him, don't you? Snape, I mean."

She rolled her eyes, but went with him to the empty corner near the kitchen stairs.

"I think everyone knows that now, Harry. Or if they missed the story so far, they're about to find out."

"The first years were impressed," he said, leaning against the wall and watching her face. "We were too. I always thought Boggarts were the one thing you couldn't do."

"They are." She took a swift glance around at the stragglers casting them curious looks and cast a muffling spell on their conversation, just to be safe. "But I knew this one wasn't real. Not in a classroom, surrounded by kids. If it was going to happen – but it won't, I won't let it – if it did, it would be in a quarry. At night. With a ring of Death Eaters wearing heavy boots and –" She stopped herself with a gulp. She shouldn't have mentioned the quarry. Too identifying.

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" he said.

"What do you think, Harry?" she said sharply. "I'm married to him. What do you think I think about while I wait for him to come back from a summons?" There, that should cover it. If Harry recognised the quarry reference, he'd wonder if Severus had told her.

"What did he do when he found out? Was he as spitting angry as third year? He better not have hurt you!"

Hermione scowled at him and decided on a very Slytherin revenge. Maybe Severus was rubbing off on her more than she'd realised.

"Didn't you hear?" she said sweetly. "I thought the Hufflepuffs told everyone about him sweeping me off my feet in a passionate kiss in front of them. Tongues and everything."

Harry gaped and turned a little green.

"You're kidding me, right?" he said uneasily.

"Well, not in front of the Hufflepuffs," she said, even more sweetly. Not anywhere, in fact, but she had plans about that.

"I don't want to know," Harry said hastily. "I just wanted to check that you were all right."

"If you really care whether I'm all right, you'd stop picking quarrels with him all the time," Hermione retorted, glaring at a small group of first-year Hufflepuffs who'd stopped to stare as they reached the top of the staircase. They scuttled past, whispering.

"I'm trying, but he's always such a git about everything," Harry said, his fingers playing with something in his pockets.

"Honestly, you two are just as silly as each other. _He_ says he's trying and not getting anywhere because you dislike him too much to notice."

"And whose fault is that? He's the one who hated me before he even met me," Harry snapped back.

"He was expecting you to hate him," she explained. Better not add that if Harry's dad had lived or his aunt had ever cared what her brother-in-law thought, it would have been Harry hating Severus before they even met.

"Then he should grow up. I'm not my dad, all right? I just look like him."

Hermione bit back the comment that her husband wasn't the only one who couldn't seem to tell the difference. Mentioning Sirius was never a good idea.

"You act like him to Severus. Don't even argue, I've been your best friend since first year and you never even acknowledge that he saved your life. Plus you drive him up the wall because he's trying to prepare you to beat the second most powerful wizard in the world, but you can't be bothered to listen. The problem with you, Harry, is that you never think adults can have feelings. But you're almost an adult yourself now and it's about time you learnt!"

She cancelled the muffling spell and turned to go, but Harry wasn't finished.

"Hermione! Hermione! Look, I'm sorry. I'll try, OK?" he said, one hand on her sleeve.

"Tell him that. And sound as if you mean it this time."

Harry's soft voice stopped her leaving.

"Maybe I could, if he'd stop insulting me at every second word."

"He calls that pointing out your mistakes with strict accuracy," she admitted, pursing her lips to keep herself from giggling. _Really, they were so silly, both of them. _

"He would. And you blame me!"

"I blame both of you." She turned back to him and butted his arm gently. "You're each as bad as the other. Look, I'm trying to keep both of you – all of us – alive, and you two need to make friends to do it. Didn't any of your primary school teachers ever read you any of Aesop's Fables, like the one about the sticks? Put them in a bundle and you can't break them, but separate them and you can snap them in pieces. You know it's true, Harry. If you won't listen to me, at least listen to the Sorting Hat."

He nodded and grimaced.

"Yes, all right. As long as you don't expect me to trust Malfoy."

**A/N Bubotubers and Flutterby bushes are both in Greenhouse Three. In fourth year, they squeezed Bubotubers for their pus in early September and pruned Flutterby bushes in mid to late November.**

**Snape's comment about Hermione exempting him from giving points to Gryffindor is a reference to ch 12 of this fic. **

**After posting this chapter, I suddenly realised I'd miscounted the nights between the dream-link discussion and the wedding **– **Hermione started taking Dreamless Sleep Potion that same night, spoke to her parents on the third morning and married the morning after that **– **so I've changed "three days" to "four nights". **

**BTW, my descriptionary (reverse dictionary, organised thematically) says "purple" is military code for "this unit is suspected of carrying nuclear weapons". I didn't know that when naming this chapter, but I do find it apposite.**


	26. Things They Regret

THINGS THEY REGRET

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH, but this chapter contains DH spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

Watching Harry pace around the dorm, Neville wondered how long they had before Dean and Seamus came in from kicking a football outside and Ron finished snogging Hannah in some deserted alcove.

"I don't trust him. I'll never trust him. His dad's a Death Eater and so are half his family and he's just like them. He wanted the Heir of Slytherin to kill Hermione in second year. He wanted to know who it was so he could help him do it," Harry growled.

Neville sighed. This might be useless, but he couldn't just give up.

"He was twelve. Twelve-year-olds say a lot of silly things they regret by the time they turn seventeen. And she'd humiliated him about his place on the team. He was angry. Haven't you ever wished someone would suffer or even die for no better reason than they hurt your feelings? He doesn't want that now."

"I suppose he told you so!" Harry sneered.

"He didn't have to. I've spent most of my time at Hogwarts in the shadows, watching other people. It felt safer that way. Some I watched because I admired." Neville picked up his pillow and fluffed it. This was a time for honesty. "You and Ron and Hermione, for instance. Some I watched because I was afraid. Like Draco." He shrugged. "I haven't been afraid of Draco for a while. I haven't had to be."

"You keep saying he's changed, but he hasn't. He tried to ambush me on the train at the end of fifth year!"

Neville sighed and felt in his pocket for Trevor. He wasn't there. Not again! He scanned the room and decided to start with looking under the beds. Once he had a clear view of Trevor's position, he could Accio him without risk of bashing him into obstacles on the way.

"Well, yeah. You put his dad in Azkaban. Did you expect him not to care? But maybe you hexed some sense into him that day, because he hasn't hexed you since. Hasn't tried to. Doesn't even really want to any more," he said, getting down on his knees.

"He punched me the other day," Harry said, looping up the curtains on Neville's bed out of the way.

"You'd have punched yourself the other day," Neville pointed out. It wasn't only Draco that said silly things he regretted or wished death on people who disliked him.

Harry had no answer to that. He moved to the next bed then the next, looping the curtains as he went.

"Look, you're great blokes, you and Ron, you really are," Neville said. It was easier to say these things while hunting a toad together. Trevor seemed to have an instinct when his absence was needed. "But you're as blind as bats about other people. I'm not saying Draco was worth having as a friend when we were first years. He wasn't. But a lot of that posing and taunting and trying to get you in trouble was hurt feelings because, according to him, you hated him on sight."

"He insulted Ron."

"Before then. In Madam Malkin's. He tried everything to impress you and you just froze him out."

Harry made a face and said, "He reminded me of Dudley. My cousin. A mean, spoilt bully."

Trevor was waiting under the fourth bed they checked. Neville put him in his pocket and stood up.

"Fair enough, when he was eleven. That's what I thought about him too. But are you sure it's Draco you're seeing when you look at him now? He's not your cousin and he's not that eleven-year-old brat you first met. Look again, Harry. That's all I'm saying."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_VAMPIRICAL EVIDENCE _

_Hogwarts students watched in terror this week, _writes Rita Skeeter, Feature Reporter,_ as apprentice-teacher Madam Hermione Snape, nee Granger, let slip her husband's dark secret. The eleven-year-olds cowered as Madam Snape revealed that her husband had risen from the dead to walk amongst them. _

_"Everyone warned us that Professor Snape was the Bat of the Dungeons," quavered one of the horrified witnesses, "But we didn't know they meant literally." _

_"He's always been the scariest teacher in the school," confirmed another. "His eyes are as black as empty tunnels and when he looks at you funny, your insides freeze. If I didn't chew garlic every morning before class, I wouldn't be alive to talk to you today." _

_Readers will recall that the plain but ambitious teen, who gained notoriety for her gold-digging grabs at__ Harry Potter and Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum, married Potions master and head of Slytherin Professor Severus Snape in a private ceremony shortly before her classmates began seventh year. Her eagerness is now explained. Vampiric powers of enthrallment are well documented in Dark Arts literature and Professor Snape's long-held wish to exchange his potionmongering for a deeper engagement with Dark Arts was doubtlessly the reason he turned his attention to the untalented teen. _

_When queried about the latest in a string of dangerously unstable appointments, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore refused comment…_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

'Risen from the dead indeed! It was a Boggart, for goodness sake!'

Hermione didn't stop fuming until the Halloween Feast that night. Every lesson she gave was a distraction from wishing she could have the end of fourth year back in order to crush the beetle she'd foolishly kept alive in a jar.

Somehow, the students seemed rowdier than usual. She took points from all four houses with savage satisfaction, although Gryffindor didn't have enough points to lose and she had to switch to giving them detentions as a substitute.

Then she walked into the Great Hall and stood for a moment, surveying the thousands of bats swooping over pumpkin candle-holders and fluttering from walls and ceilings and, despite herself, a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"What's one more bat in this crowd?" came a voice from just behind. She looked around and down at Filius and the grin won.

"Serve them right if he really did turn into a bat," she said, "and they wouldn't know which was which. I've half a mind to send these bats to all the dorms after the feast and see if any of the kids can sleep."

"Better not," said Filius placidly as they walked together to the head table. "A sleepy student is a cranky student, and a cranky student is an uncooperative wand-waver who's just as likely to set fire to his feather as to levitate it."

"I suppose you're right."

She was quite hungry. It wasn't till she looked up from two helpings of roasted pumpkin, one thick slice of beef covered in gravy, and three jacket potatoes that she noticed her husband's plate held nothing but two green peas that he was pushing around with his fork.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. He didn't even eat peas. He said they gave him indigestion.

He glanced up and dully down again.

"It's nothing," he said and mashed one pea with the back of his fork. "Nothing that concerns you."

"It's not about the article, is it?" she said quickly. "Will it cause you any trouble? They must know it's all rubbish."

"They do, of course. Don't coddle me, I'm just not hungry."

She kept an eye on him after that. When he didn't take even a slice of his favourite treacle tart, her jam roly-poly congealed in her mouth and her dinner sat like a lead weight in her gut.

"Was it something I did?" she asked, as soon as they were safely in their own rooms with the door shut behind them.

Severus walked over to the empty fireplace and stared down into the grate.

"Nothing to do with you," he said. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"I can't help worrying, when I see you like this. Please don't tell me nothing's wrong, when I know it is."

He sighed, still watching the empty grate.

"I did promise to be honest with you," he said at last. "Honest in everything of a personal nature. I cannot deny that this fits into that category, however much I might wish otherwise. Very well." He bowed his head. "This is an anniversary of sorts for me. The day that my sins came back to haunt me. The day that my best friend died."

She gasped and stumbled to his side, knocking two books off one of the stacks on the way. She reached out her hand to his arm, but didn't quite dare touch.

"Oh Severus," she breathed. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"Not long enough to forget," she said softly.

"No, never that." His fists were clenched at his sides. "It was my fault. I was the wicked fool who gave the Dark Lord the information, never dreaming that it meant – someone I cared about. If not for me, they might not have died."

"You didn't know you were betraying your friend," Hermione said helplessly. _They?_

He whirled on her and put hands out as if to shake her, but instead he let them fall and strode past her to the table, where he stood fingering rolls of parchment essays.

"I knew I was betraying someone!" he said. "Don't try to excuse me. Nothing can ever excuse me."

"Oh Severus," she said again.

"Finding out was a wake-up call," he went on expressionlessly. "A reminder that what I was doing had consequences, real consequences for real people. Terrible consequences. That I was as responsible as the people who wielded the wands and sacked the houses. I turned myself in to Albus, but I couldn't undo the damage. I couldn't save her."

On her way to his side, Hermione stopped in her tracks. "Her?" she said. "Your best friend was a girl?"

He lifted his head and looked a very long way down his nose.

"Why should that surprise you? Are not your best friends male? Do you think yourselves the only ones ever able to find companionship in a person of the opposite sex?"

"It shouldn't surprise me," she admitted slowly, "but it did, all the same. I suppose I always assumed that Lucius Malfoy was your best friend. Or another of the Death Eaters." She took the last few steps in a rush and put her arms around his waist, resting her head in the centre of his back. He stiffened and then relaxed. "Was she one?"

She knew her mistake immediately by the tension in his arms.

"Never! Of all things, she loathed Dark Arts and their practitioners."

She nodded against his shoulder blade and prayed that her body was giving him the comfort her words could not. When he turned in her embrace and sank his face into her hair, she knew she was helping. They were silent for a long time.

"She loathed Dark Arts, but you became a Death Eater?" she mused, then started as she realised she'd said it aloud. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't tell me if you don't want to."

"She had not considered me a friend for a long time by then. I said something – unforgivable, when we were sixteen, and she never spoke to me again."

Her arms tightened around him.

"Oh Severus." It was such a useless thing to say, but she couldn't think of a better. "She never forgave you?"

"I told you, I said something unforgivable."

"Nothing's unforgivable between friends," she muttered under her breath, but he heard.

"I called her a filthy little Mudblood," he said, drawing a little back to watch her.

"Then she should have slapped your face," Hermione said. "But still have forgiven you, if you apologised."

The corner of his mouth drew in.

"That's what you'd have done," he said. "You've forgiven your friends everything."

She almost said, "Of course," but that would have been incredibly tactless, so she said nothing. After a while, he sighed and pulled away.

"Did you love her?" she said, feeling ridiculously bereft, then bit her lip. She hadn't meant to ask. Luckily, he didn't take offence.

"Yes," he said. "Desperately."

She gulped.

"Do you still?" she blurted out.

"For a long time, she was everything," he said frankly. "But not now."

"What was she like?"

He walked away to the far bookshelf.

"Not as loyal as you."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Of course she couldn't leave it like that.

"A Muggleborn witch, the same age as you. And she died on Halloween, just like Harry's mother. I wonder if they were friends."

He grimaced and she knew.

"Oh." She gulped and stared and gulped again. "Then when you look at him…"

He closed his eyes. "I remember everything."

It was ridiculous how much she seemed to be crying this year. She scrubbed viciously at her nose and eyes.

"It isn't fair. It wasn't his fault."

He leaned his forehead against the edge of the bookshelf he'd been glaring at. "She _died_ to save him! And he doesn't even care. Look at him! Lazy, sloppy, ignorant, and glorying in his ignorance! He hasn't even come back for his Occlumency lessons since his last ridiculous tantrum. He wasn't worth her death."

"Don't say that!" she told him, bending to pick up the books she'd earlier knocked off their stacks. Some of the other stacks were teetering a bit precariously too. She moved to straighten them. "You don't even know what he's like, you only think you do. But you never see past his parents when you look at him. He does care. He just doesn't show it to you."

"Does he care about Lily? Has he ever spent a moment to wonder about her? Or is it only his father he memorialises?"

Was his voice muffled because he was talking into a shelf or for another reason entirely? She bit her lip.

"Boys think more about their fathers at this age," she said. "If he was ten years younger or ten years older, perhaps." She took a deep breath. "He's been my best friend since he came to rescue me from a troll in first year, when he didn't even like me."

"You lied about seeking the troll." He glanced at her. A red pressure line marked his forehead from left brow to hairline.

"Yes, but not about the rescue. He's brave and loyal and self-sacrificing and he has this saving people thing that won't let him rest when he sees someone in danger. Look at him again, Severus. Please."

**A/N Neville here presents Draco's perspective of his first interactions with Harry, which is, unsurprisingly, quite different from Harry's (PS, chs 5 and 6). Draco is unaware that his voice might strike a stranger "bored" and "drawling"; he knows Harry took him in immediate dislike, but has never understood why.**

**At Madam Malkin's, Draco opened the conversation and tried several topics that he expected to interest another wizard-bred child, but Harry responded with silence or monosyllables. When brooms, Quidditch and House-speculation had alike failed, Draco tried street-sights (Hagrid) and family, which elicited longer answers, but only of the conversation-stopper variety. On the Hogwarts train, Draco tried again with stronger interest (famous Harry Potter was a more enticing prospect than random fellow-student met in shop) and was again rebuffed. Subsequently, Draco kept bothering Harry because he preferred to receive negative attention than to be ignored. **


	27. Idiot!

IDIOT!

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewer, Bellegeste and to Clever Lass for some suggestions. Next chapter is barely started, so I can't promise a speedy update.**

The next day, Ron was waiting outside Hermione's classroom after the fourth lesson.

"Do we talk here or on the way to lunch?" he asked from the doorway.

She waved him in and continued ordering her notes for the next class. If Ron was willing to miss a meal, he must have something very important or very accusatory to say.

"If this is still about the house points –"

He perched on the edge of her desk, the better to glare down at her. "What's there to say about that? You'd do anything for Snape, wouldn't you?"

"I didn't take the points for him," she said.

"Forget the points! I already said this isn't about that."

She shuffled the essays into assigned seating order. "What is it about then?"

"Your Boggart is dead-Snape. Not dead-Harry or dead-me, or dead-Ginny or -Neville, but dead-Snape. When did we stop being your best friends that you'd do anything for?" His Adam's apple bobbed. "Or were you always just waiting to go after Snape? We never did see your Boggart in third year."

The essays dropped. Her head jerked up and her eyes burned.

"How can you say that, after everything we did together? It was always you and Harry. I never gave Severus a thought till this year."

"Till you married him, you mean? Pull the other one!" Ron planted one hand flat on the stack of notes. "Nobody marries someone they weren't thinking about, just out of the blue. I don't know whether it started up here," he said, tapping his head with the other, "or down here!" He twitched his hips awkwardly. "But don't tell me you weren't thinking about it!"

Hermione's cheeks crimsoned, and then paled as the niggle of unease she'd been feeling for days suddenly crystallised. Later. She'd deal with that later. Tonight.

"The whole thing even looked like it was your idea," Ron continued. "First you lied to us about wanting to be alone so you could wangle a chance to get him alone, and next thing we knew, you were getting married to him."

Her fingernails dug into her palms and she swallowed hard. "I didn't plan that, it just happened. I didn't want any of you worrying about my nightmares and I knew he could help, if I could persuade him to listen. And my excuse for bothering him was going to be my idea about improving the formula for Polyjuice."

His lips thinned and he shook his head. She gulped again and persevered.

"I wasn't expecting Albus to ask me to teach, but he did and I couldn't refuse. Not with the alternative being another Ministry appointee, probably someone even worse than Umbridge. At least now we're finally learning how to defend ourselves. You know we're going to need that." She stood up and waved her wand at the blackboard. It wiped clean.

Ron stood too. She could feel his eyes on her back.

"You should have talked to us first. There must have been another way," he said heavily.

She turned to face him, leaning back against the blackboard and chewing on her lip. "There really wasn't. Do you think we didn't rack our brains for alternatives? Severus hated the idea too, if you must know, but he doesn't shirk things that need to be done. Anyway, why are you bringing it up now, after all this time?"

Ron slumped. "I'm not good at arguing, I never have been. I get stupid when I'm angry, and then you storm off in a huff and nothing ever gets sorted. Hannah thought if I waited and practised what I wanted to say till I got it clear, maybe I'd get it right for once." His open freckled face, so different from her husband's, scrunched in a quick grimace. "I don't want to fight with you, I just want to know. I need to know, Hermione; it's lives at stake. You're crazy about him, don't even bother trying to deny it, but how do you _know_ he's really on our side? Objectively, I mean. How can you be _sure _he'll never try to use you to betray Harry?"

She opened her mouth, closed it to gulp and opened it again. He deserved the truth. The best she could do was not lie.

"I can't say anything except that I am sure. Don't you see that his life depends on Voldemort believing we have no objective evidence? You'll just have to decide for yourselves whether you trust my judgement or not."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Mr Potter, a word before you leave," Snape said without looking up, as the students placed their vials on his desk on their way out.

"Yes sir." Harry gritted his teeth and waved Ron past him. He'd promised Hermione to try, and he wasn't going to give Snape an excuse to blame their next fight on him.

"Enough time has been wasted. I trust you're ready to resume our lessons tomorrow night." Snape picked up the closest vial and tipped it sideways, watching the crimson liquid slosh back and forth. "Eight pm, as before."

"Yes sir." Harry watched as Snape made a notation in his book and picked up another vial.

"Was there anything else, Mr Potter?" The contents jiggled sluggishly as the vial was turned this way and that. Snape put it down and made another notation.

"I shouldn't have looked in your Pensieve that time," Harry said in a rush. "I thought it might be something about the Department of Mysteries, I didn't think it would be personal."

The professor's hands stilled. "I see. This is your idea of an apology, then?"

"I suppose so. I mean, yes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I looked and I'm sorry about what my dad did. He was –" He groped for a word, but could come up with nothing better than one of Sirius's to describe it. "He was an idiot."

"On the contrary. He was almost Slytherin in his cunning." Snape's quill snapped in his hand and they both regarded it in puzzlement. Snape recovered first. "I do not intend to discuss this any further. Your apology on your own behalf is accepted, and I do not hold you responsible for the other. You're dismissed." He pushed the broken quill to one side.

Harry swung his bag up to his shoulder, hesitated, and swung it down again. "I can't help worrying for Hermione. She's very fond of you and if you ever called her a Mudblood –"

"I don't need your advice on how to deal with my wife!" Black eyes and green blazed into each other. Slowly, Snape's hands unclenched. "Your concern for your friend is –" He took a deep breath and bent his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Admirable, Mr Potter."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Absorbed in contemplation of the bookshelf, Hermione started as her husband spoke.

"You should sit down and get to work. Those third year Acromantula essays won't mark themselves."

She nodded and ran her finger one more time over the edge of the second-top shelf of the left-hand bookcase.

"I know," she said, taking out a random Transfiguration text and turning it over in her hands. "Severus. I've been thinking. About the dream-link. What were the exact words I used in your dream? You've never actually said."

The chair scraped on the floor as he pushed away from the table. She didn't look at him.

_"All shall be as you see, you shall not reach December; Unless we married be, before we start September. Should my lips seal our bond, broken may yet be mended; Hearts that were cold grow fond, and sorrow's grip be ended," _he quoted. "Why do you ask?"

She opened the book and stared blankly down at a diagram of a half-man half-bird plummeting down the page. Gulping, she closed it quickly.

"You're sure I said 'my lips', not 'your lips'?" she muttered, conscious of a pair of dark eyes raised and watching her.

"Very. Not that it matters."

She gave a little wriggle all down her back and opened the book to another page. A parrot with a toucan's beak glared back at her.

"It – it might. Because if I'd said 'your lips' in the dream, then I'd be sure you were right, at the start, when you said it meant a kiss, but –" She slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf, clearing her throat and licking her lips. "It doesn't actually say 'kiss'. Severus, I have – I have – more than one pair of – of – you know. Lips. I think, maybe, it means, maybe it means the other ones. So I want to, well, to do whatever we need to." She finished with a rush and turned towards him to stare at his hands.

"No," he said flatly.

She dared a glance at his face, saw his black scowl, licked her lips and looked away. Her hands found her robes and tightened, scrunching the fabric into little balls.

"No, you don't think I'm right or, no, you won't do it?" she ventured.

"No, you don't want to, and therefore, no, I won't do it." He sounded exasperated. She gulped again.

"But if it's to save your life –"

A rustle of papers slammed down on wood and the chair scraped again. She darted another glance at him to find him sitting bolt upright, his whole body facing her.

"Hermione, I've spent half my life in servitude to one master or another, and I refuse to impose my personal wishes or needs on anyone, least of all you. No matter for what reason," he ground out.

She bit her lip and backed against the bookcase till the shelves dug into her shoulder blades and buttocks. She'd been right then, that day she taxed him with her knowledge of the dreams. He _would _rather have died than marry her, just not for the reason she'd thought.

"But it's for me too. You said yourself that if he kills you, he'll kill me and my parents."

"No, Hermione," he said.

"I think I should have some say in not getting killed!"

He sighed loudly and explained with overdone patience, "The prophecy didn't specify which lips and therefore it's for us to choose how to interpret it. We don't need to go past the minimum requirement. The ritual kiss at our wedding sealed our marital bond." His lips thinned. "I won't allow you to rush yourself into something you don't want and aren't ready for."

"I d-do want it and I am ready," she said, twisting the balled-up fabric in her fists.

"You can't even bring yourself to name it to my face. No. We have the rest of our lives to think about that."

"If we live that long!" she said.

"How can you imagine you're ready for such intimacies, when we barely even touch each other, let alone kiss?"

Her cheeks flamed, but she wouldn't be silent. "And whose fault is that?" It had been his idea to choose a ceremony that didn't require physical consummation, his idea to have separate bedrooms.

He gazed upwards at her from under raised brows.

"Yours, of course," he said.

Her mouth dropped open and she looked him full in the face for the first time since the conversation began.

"Mine?" she cried. "I've been waiting for you! To kiss me or touch me or, well, anything, really! Anything to show you wanted to."

"And I've been waiting for you," he replied calmly, leaning casually back and stretching his long legs in front of him. "I gave you license; I even goaded you into embracing me on your birthday, just in case you were in any doubt what I meant. Did it seem to you that I disliked it?"

She opened her mouth and shut it hastily, moving forward and away from the shelves. Her hands found her hips and she leaned forward.

"I thought you weren't interested. You never touch me unless I touch you first," she said.

"Exactly. That's why you should have understood that I won't kiss you until you've kissed me first. It's for you to decide when you're ready to move forward, and for me to be patient and wait for you. And I've been very patient," he said, still watching her with that disconcerting upwards curl at the corner of his mouth.

"Patient! Why didn't you just say?"

"Because I've been your teacher since you were eleven. It was for you to say."

She shook her head and paced across the room and back, avoiding three piles of books and one of periodicals with the ease of two months practice. His eyes followed her until she came to stand a few paces in front of him.

"You mean I'm still that little kid to you," she muttered, rubbing at the pain in her chest with ungentle fingers.

"No," he said again. "The other way around. I hope you do not still see me in the back of your mind as the strict teacher you wanted to impress. Would you still do anything for my approval? Is your first instinct to do what you want or what you think I want? Haven't you noticed how carefully I've avoided the present day in our Occlumency sessions? I won't pry into your private thoughts, but equally, I won't make any advances that smack of coercion. When you're ready, you'll know." His eyes gleamed in a combination of challenge and invitation. "And when you can tell me you want me without stuttering, I'll know too."

Hermione looked at him. _Boys!_ She thought. _Whether they're seventeen or thirty-seven, they're still completely incomprehensible. We've wasted weeks because he wouldn't just say what he was thinking. The idiot! _

And then she was standing between his knees and he was tipping his head back to watch her and she took one step forward and cupped his face in her hands – his cheeks were rough – and bent down to him a little uncertainly. His lips were cool, but his mouth was warm and who cared if his hair was slippery with potion or her neck was getting a crick?

After a while, her back started aching too, so she settled herself onto his lap and against his thin chest, where she could feel his heart racing. Or was that hers? She smiled against his mouth and nestled a little more closely. He shifted to accommodate her. It almost felt as if he was smiling back, but she didn't lift her head to look.

After a longer while, she remembered there'd been something else she'd wanted to say. Her hands stilled on his buttons. What was it again?

"Come to bed," she whispered.

His arms tightened around her, but his head drew back and his eyes narrowed.

She looked back hopefully, drawing little circles on his chest with one finger. His hand came around and up to capture hers. The moment lengthened. Her lips felt bare.

"No," he told her, when his breathing had steadied enough to speak. "Not tonight."

"But I didn't stutter." That was important, although she couldn't quite remember why.

He rested his forehead on hers and she could feel his breath come in little puffs that tickled her cheek.

"It doesn't count," he said.

"But –"

"You want to change our lives," he explained gently. "I'm not averse, but I have to be sure you've properly thought it through. We need to discuss it while we're both clear-headed." His hand tightened around hers. "_Before_ we kiss each other senseless."

He disentangled his other hand from her hair to trace up and down the side of her cheek. She turned to kiss his fingers and their noses knocked. The tremor of his amusement tingled through their locked hands and traveled up her arm.

She meant to scowl at him, but when their eyes met he was smiling and she couldn't help smiling back.

"Silly," she told him. "Haven't we wasted enough time already?"

"I dare to hope that we'll live through this," he said, his other hand still on her cheek. "With you at my side, I almost feel as if I could live through anything."

Her eyes filled and she buried her head in the place where his neck and shoulder met, her cheek on folds of scratchy wool, her mouth on bare skin.

"I hope so," she whispered, and thrilled as a tremble ran through him and he pressed her caught hand to his heart, which was less under control than his breathing. She could feel it still thudding under her bent fingers.

He dropped a kiss on her hair and let his free hand play with her curls.

"I'm planning on it. If all goes well, we'll be together for a very long time, and I want to be sure we don't trip over our own feet at the start. More haste, less speed."

"What does it matter if it isn't right straightaway? We can just practise until we get it perfect," she coaxed.

"I should have known you'd say that. You are such a very Gryffindor girl."

"I can't help it, you know," she grumbled.

"I don't want you to help it."

She startled and attempted to seek his eyes, only to bang her head on his chin.

"Ow! Sorry." She rubbed her head ruefully, as he did the same to his jaw, then blushed and hung her head when he raised his eyebrow at her. "I always thought you didn't like me being Gryffindor."

"I did tell you to be yourself," he reminded her. "Gryffindor is what you are and I would no more change that than paint your eyes green. If you hadn't been a Gryffindor, would you ever have been reckless enough to throw your life away on me?"

"Probably," she said staunchly. "If I'd known you better. And I don't consider it throwing my life away. I'm nothing very special, you know. Books and cleverness, I told Harry once; that's all I am. And not even very clever, compared to you."

He drew her back against him and she snugged her head contentedly into the crook of his neck.

"You undervalue yourself," he told her, one hand smoothing her hair from crown to waist and lingering there while the other cradled her closer. "I've never known anyone so generous. For six years, I've watched you put your friends' interests consistently above your own, and now you want to do the same for me. I don't want you to give up so much of yourself that you lose what makes you you."

She kissed where her mouth rested, on bare skin, and felt his sudden inhale. "Silly," she said again. "Don't you see that that is what makes me me?"

**A/N The phrase "more than one pair of lips" usually refers to speech, but has been used to describe women in scholarly works on Sexuality, Philosophy and Semiotics. I thought it sounded literary/clinical/scholarly rather than rude, hence something Hermione might say,** **and hope it does not offend. This chapter is as explicit as the story gets, which I know will disappoint some and relieve others.**

**The "books and cleverness" comment came from PS/SS, ch 16.**


	28. Is it Safe?

IS IT SAFE?

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

Hermione woke up from lurid dreams to an empty bed and a longing ache for the stubborn husband who'd exiled her there. She trailed a finger across her lips, hugging herself with her other arm, and breathed in slowly. If he insisted on a proper talk – about what, she couldn't imagine – before kissing her again, a talk he would have. Immediately.

Ten minutes later, showered and dressed but with her hair still in its nighttime braid, she pushed open the laboratory door to find him chopping knotgrass while Draco strained clarified dragon bile through a cotton sieve. The sixth years must be brewing Elbury's Embrocation this morning. The knotgrass needed to be very fresh.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't mean to disturb you." She paused, hoping Severus would interrupt his work, but he only nodded. She took another step into the room and licked her lips. Draco looked away hastily.

"I just wanted to say that I meant what I said, last night. I haven't changed my mind," she said. She watched Severus for a response, but he had his spy-face on.

"Very well," he said. "It sounds a fertile ground of endeavour. You shall tell me tonight which potions Poppy advises for your study."

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, encountered his raised eyebrow and promptly flushed scarlet. "Yes," she said. "Tonight."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione dutifully watched Harry's eyes as Severus cast Legilimens on him for the third time. Her jaw was set and her thumb kept rubbing along the tips of her fingers in turn. Yes, Occlumency was vital and Harry had to master it and blah, blah, blah, but couldn't they hurry up and finish the lesson so she could get Severus alone?

It had been a long day. By dinnertime she'd decided that if the Slytherin Quidditch team interrupted them one more time, she was liable to hex them into canaries, and while that might improve their Chasers' flying skills for Saturday's game, it wouldn't make Severus any more approachable. Then there'd been a heads of house meeting after dinner, a surprise inspection of the Slytherin common room, and now this lesson.

Harry's eye-muscles weren't fluttering this time. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, then repositioned his glasses with one finger and smiled. Hermione gasped.

"Harry? You did it, didn't you? You finally did it!"

"Not before time," Severus said sourly. "What should have taken at most two lessons has taken you two years to learn. Again. _Legilimens_."

"Two lessons?" Harry said, throwing him off again with ease. "How do you make that out?"

"You are a natural Occlumens, Mr Potter. You threw me out of your head the first time you tried, albeit not immediately. If you had calmed your emotions as I told you, it should have been as natural as blinking for you. Again. _Legilimens_."

Hermione looked down and studied her hands, which had curled momentarily into fists. Everything in Defence Against the Dark Arts came easily to Harry. She had to work and work to get lesser results.

"As natural as – Why didn't you just say that in the first place then, if you wanted me to learn?" Harry demanded.

Severus looked down his nose, his eyes glittering with displeasure. "If you recall, I told you in our first lesson that, despite your connection with the Dark Lord, your mind had only opened to him at times that it was most relaxed and vulnerable. I also explained, immediately before casting Legilimency the first time, so it would be fresh in your mind, that Occlumency used similar powers to resisting Imperius, at which you had already proven adept. If you hadn't resisted learning for all you were worth, all you should have required was a strong enough attack to activate your defences."

"How was I supposed to know that was what you meant? You couldn't have just told me straight out?"

"Not if I wanted to survive the experience of teaching you. With the Dark Lord in your head, that was far from a foregone conclusion."

Hermione rolled her eyes as they glowered at each other, but decided against pointing out to Harry that a double-agent wouldn't last very long if he got into habits of plain speaking. They had to sort things out themselves.

"Why didn't you tell me this year then? I haven't felt him since the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore says he's been employing Occlumency against me."

"I did remind you that casting off the Imperius in fourth year meant that you should be able to recognise and eject an intruder," Severus said through gritted teeth. "You must see that, until you learned to lock your mind at will, I could not speak any more plainly."

"Fine," Harry muttered at last. "It's all _my_ fault that people think keeping things from me is the best way to get me to understand what they're on about."

Severus smirked. "Your apology is accepted," he said with irritating magnanimity and turned to Hermione while Harry fumed silently. "I believe it will be of benefit to both of you if I allow Mr Potter to cast the next Legilimens on you. While I doubt his ability to restrain himself from inappropriate curiosity, circumstances dictate that he not be prevented from exercising his powers of discovery as he sees fit."

"But," she said, "but what if he sees, well, well, you know?"

"Scenes of an intimate nature? I imagine he'd wish to avoid those at all costs." His eyes held a teasing gleam, but also a message. "Surely you cannot have any secrets from one of your closest friends?"

"Not secrets of my own," she said, wondering if she'd understood correctly. That had sounded almost like advice. "Your secrets. I'm not good enough at this to be sure of not showing him anything he shouldn't see. Are you sure it's all right? Is it – is it safe?" She reached forward, but didn't quite dare to put a hand on his arm in front of Harry.

"It is time," Severus said, his eyes holding hers, "whether it is safe or not. Mr Potter has often inquired of Albus how he knows he can trust me. If he can wrest that information from you, he will have earned it."

She gulped and nodded.

"Hang on," Harry said. "I do want to know, of course I do, but not by forcing Hermione to show me anything she doesn't want to. She's my friend, and I won't do it."

"Yes, you will," Hermione said. It had better be tonight, when she risked showing him nothing more private than snogging. She hoped she'd have more juicy memories than that to protect by tomorrow. "I give you permission. You must. Severus is the expert, and if he thinks we need to do this, we should listen." She stood up and faced her hesitant friend. "Try. I need to learn to shield myself against more minds than one."

Harry looked her over, glanced at her husband who was watching with impenetrable calm and looked at her again. "All right. Are you ready? One, two, three, _Legilimens._"

It was over almost immediately. She let herself remember Severus's lips opening against her own and his tongue, mmm, warm, wet, eager ... Harry jerked away with a look of repulsion.

"Urgh, Hermione," he protested, his hand wiping roughly and repeatedly against his mouth. "You're going to give me nightmares!"

Hermione looked at her husband. He smirked back at her.

"An effective strategy against Mr Potter," he purred. "Unfortunately, you don't know most other practitioners of the art well enough to deduce what might deter them from lingering. Bellatrix, for example, is rather a voyeur."

She winced. Harry gave his mouth one last wipe.

"It would work against Vol – You-Know-Who," he corrected as his listeners protested in chorus. "Dumbledore says it," he reminded them.

"I've told you that I'm not Dumbledore," Severus snapped.

Harry snorted. "Anyway, it would work against _him_," he said. "Dumbledore told me it was my love that made it too painful for him to stay in my head, so if you think about Sn – about people you love, Hermione, I bet it would work."

The professor cleared his throat. "Indeed. Are you confident you can keep your mind locked from now on, Mr Potter? And your mouth shut, naturally?" He waited for Harry's nod. "I believe it will be beneficial for Hermione to practise moving you around her mind. And to make sure you try to stay in long enough for her to do so this time, she'll finish by showing you something you want to see: the circumstances leading to our marriage."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As soon as Harry left, Hermione turned and flung herself into her husband's arms, which closed around her. "That was horrible," she muttered.

"I know," he said to the top of her head. "You did well."

She sniffed and snuggled closer. "I don't want to do that ever again," she said. "Showing Harry, showing anyone but you around my head."

"I know. You did very well." His arms tightened around her. "I must speak to Albus tonight. One day, I hope our private lives will take precedence over other duties, but at this moment I can give you only half an hour. If you wanted to speak to me today, it will have to be now. I expect to be very late back."

She sniffed again and nodded against his chest. The scratchy wool of his robes was already comfortingly familiar, but she had to release him so they could walk to the superior privacy of their rooms. It would steal three of her minutes, but at least they'd be secure against interruptions.

She waited until they were in their living room with the door shut before speaking her mind.

"Why did you send me to Poppy this morning? I'm not a complete fool, you know. I did make sure I knew a contraception charm before I – before I invited you into my bed."

It still made her blush to say that. Her hands clasped and unclasped, and her teeth caught on the inside of her cheek. It was so important not to seem childish to him. Then he opened his arms in wordless invitation and she stepped back into his embrace with a sigh. He had some explaining to do, but there was no reason she couldn't snuggle while he did it, was there?

"So I should hope," he said, running one finger lightly down the back of her neck and her spine. "But if you had in mind a more permanent arrangement than a single night, there are more effective methods. What did she suggest?"

She reared up her head to scowl at him. "And that's another thing! You should have come with me. You have to know these things too." That had been the most embarrassing thirty-four minutes of her life.

He scowled back. "I may not have been in the habit of complimenting your perfect memory, but be sure that I have noticed its reliability."

"Thank you very much, but I suppose the truth is you already knew, didn't you?" she accused. She knew he'd been testing her for signs of wavering or any childish reluctance to take responsibility for her choices. She wasn't sure that was a good enough excuse for his own abdication of responsibility, but she'd let it pass this time.

"I have a working familiarity with all the common potions, yes. Would you like to discuss the options with me or just tell me which you've chosen?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Is this your roundabout way of asking if I'll ever want to start a family?" _Slytherins! Couldn't they ever just say what they meant?_ "I don't feel much about that one way or the other, at the moment, so I settled on the Annus Profero. Once a year for a few years sounds good to me. I took a vial away with me, but I thought I'd see what you said before I drank it."

He took her to the nearest chair, fortuitously empty for once, and sat down, pulling her onto his lap, one arm around her shoulders, the other at her waist, as she settled gratefully closer. She liked the levelling of their heights afforded by sitting in his lap; from here she could kiss him without suffering a cricked neck. She rubbed her cheek against his, mentally mapping the interesting prickliness.

"A satisfactory choice. Let me know when you've drunk it," he said, poking his finger into a curl of hair that had worked free of her bun.

"If I take it now, will you come to my bed when you get back?" she murmured.

He tensed. "We've discussed this before. I shall not enter your room. I believe it's important that you have a private place, somewhere that's all your own. Besides, I absolutely refuse to share a bed with your cat."

She drew back to stare at him. "But where will we do it, if not in my bedroom? Here?"

She supposed it was neutral ground, if that was what he wanted. But Crookshanks would probably follow her wherever they slept and Severus would just have to deal with it. This was not the time to tell him so.

He met her gaze levelly. "In mine, of course."

"Yours? What about your privacy? What will you do when you want to be alone?"

"If one of us has to roam the castle half the night after the next time we quarrel, I prefer it to be me. I am accustomed to doing so, in any case."

Her mouth turned down. "It wouldn't exactly be a new activity for me either, you know," she pointed out. "Are you sure?"

"Why should you doubt it? It was implicit in the wedding ceremony. I wrapped you in my cloak, not the other way around."

Her mind was seething with questions, but time was ticking away. She settled for the most important one.

"Then would you mind very much if I moved in tonight, now? And then you could wake me up when you come to bed." Her forefinger traced small circles on his chest as she spoke.

He bent his head, unnecessarily covering his face with his hair, and kissed the top of her head almost as an afterthought."You know I can refuse you nothing."

Her hand stilled, then travelled up to his cheek, pushing aside the curtain of hair. "You know I told you to do as you choose. If you don't want me there without you, just say so."

Unexpectedly, he nuzzled into her hand and kissed her palm. "Never imagine that the wanting is one-sided, Hermione. You cannot be more eager than I am. But don't depend on doing any more than sleeping tonight. By the time I return, I may not have the energy to do the occasion justice."

"That's all right too," she said, rasping her finger along his jaw, then letting it trail down to the soft skin at the base of his neck. "I like the idea of sleeping in your arms."

"I should think waking up is more likely to be enjoyable," he told her, setting her on her feet and standing himself. Together they walked to his bedroom door. He flung it open and abruptly swung her up into his arms, murmuring, "I believe this is traditional," as he carried her over the threshold and all the way to his bed, where he seated them both, banking up the pillows behind her.

"My room is yours," he said. She looked around the room, which was neat but plain, with too much stone and not enough rugs and cushions. There was one cupboard, one chest, one wooden chair and three overflowing bookcases. "My bed is yours." The mattress was firm but not hard and the bedspread was a washed-out diamond-patterned green, but the bed was wide enough for two. Barely. She'd have to see if they could fix that. He leaned against her, pushing her gently back against the pillows. She wound her arms around his neck.

"And you?" she asked, lifting her mouth to his urgently.

"Yes," he said. "Always."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Much later, she roused as a heavy arm fell over her body and curled around her waist.

"Mmmhm," she murmured and wriggled around to face him. "What time is it?" His damp hair hung lankly over his cheek. She stroked it away.

"Late. Go back to sleep."

"You wear a nightshirt." She yawned and rubbed her face and yawned again. "Nice." She yawned again, her voice trailing off into sleep on the last word. "Convenient."

**A/N This explanation of Harry's abilities in Occlumency quotes and paraphrases Snape's comments in OotP, ch 24, but with my own interpretative twist. Dumbledore's comment about Voldemort employing Occlumency comes from HBP, ch 4. Some of this fic's earlier chapters are also referenced, eg ch 13.**

**"Annus Profero" is not canon, of course; the question of contraception was never likely to be canvassed there. I used an online translator to turn "delay a year" into Latin.**

**I mentioned in my profile that this story would "probably take an oblique glance at the marriage bed." Please note the word "oblique". I know some readers will be disappointed not to actually _see _their first time or subsequent times, but I don't find the mechanics of sex to be a necessary part of this story. The real turning point in their relationship (and the blueprint for their bedroom conduct) came with their awkward but tender kisses last chapter. **


	29. These Last Days

THESE LAST DAYS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle, and to my consultant, Whitehound. **

"You'll have to run the practice session again. I've got another meeting with Dumbledore," Harry said, breaking the silence.

Ron stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, letting his bag sink to the floor. "Call yourself a Quidditch captain? You haven't been to practice since Monday and we're playing Slytherin tomorrow!"

"I know that just as well as you do. There are more important things than Quidditch," Harry said.

"Of course there are, but not the week before the match." Ron picked up his bag and slammed it against the wall. It held together, but barely.

Harry ran a hand through his hair to the back of his neck and left it there. "Try telling that to Dumbledore. If he wants to see me for hours every night after dinner, I can't exactly say no, can I?"

Ron slammed his bag again. This time it burst, scattering books over the floor. He swore and bent to pick them up. Harry dumped his own bag and bent too. Picking up Ron's, he first cast _Reparo_ then held it open to be refilled.

In went the Charms book and the Transfiguration manual. Ron's hand hovered over _Confronting the Faceless._

"What does he need you for, anyway, and why can't it wait? Has he heard something?" He picked it up and weighed it in his hand.

Harry watched the book instead of Ron. "Lots of things, but mostly from years ago," he said. "I told you already, he's filling me in on everything he couldn't tell me before. I can't tell you most of it because you don't know Occlumency."

Ron scowled. "You should have got them to teach me too. You used to tell me everything."

He heaved the last of his books into his bag and took it out of Harry's hand. They both stood up and hoisted their bags on their shoulders. Harry blew out his lips on a sough of breath, then closed them firmly.

"Just give me time to sort it all out in my head," he said, with still-averted eyes. "I promise I'll tell you what I'm allowed next week."

"Next week can take care of itself," Ron said, beginning to walk on. "You just make sure you catch the Snitch tomorrow."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They said men usually fell asleep afterwards. _They were right_, Hermione thought. Not that she'd had all that much experience. A whole twice, so far.

Her eyes fondly traced as much of her husband's face and form as she could see while he drowsed on her shoulder. She'd been so nervous, lying awake in their bed that first night. She always was, with any new endeavour, and there were so many firsts wrapped into one: being seen naked, being touched in _those_ places, touching him, pleasing him… In the event, the best part had been the exultant look on his face – shadowy in the dim morning, because she hadn't wanted additional light in the room – and the way he'd relaxed into her arms afterwards. She loved watching him sleep, seeing those harsh lines melt from his face and relishing her ability to make him feel safe. Safe as houses.

He was making the snuffly noises that preceded either waking up or a bout of rumbly snoring. She hoped it was the first, because she hated to disturb him when, for once, he was sleeping soundly, but they'd need to get up soon. She gently smoothed his hair away from his bristly cheek. Four nights together and she already grasped his sleep patterns. He was often restless, and the second night she'd woken to find him crying silently with closed eyes. He hadn't stirred when her arms had gone round him, and the tears had started to her eyes in sympathy, but then he'd snuggled closer and a few minutes later he was snoring again.

No, she wouldn't wake him yet, even though she badly wanted to ask what was going on. He'd been disappearing every night after dinner "to consult with Albus", returning long after she'd fallen asleep, and he'd had Draco assist with his brewing every morning. Add to that the persistent interruptions of the Keeper, Chasers and Beaters of the Slytherin Quidditch team every time she tried to chat with him, and they were lucky not to be six canaries in a cage by now.

Severus made an indistinct noise and shifted in her arms, his head slipping to her breast and his breath tickling her bare skin. She let her hand trail to his pale, bony shoulder, rubbing leisurely circles along his collarbone and down his arm as far as she could reach. Not as far as the Dark Mark, but she'd have avoided that anyway. He'd warned her against touching it deliberately. It wouldn't activate at the brush of their bodies, but it might if pressed with the fingertips. She grimaced at the thought and her heart swelled so that she could hardly breathe.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

He startled awake and half-leapt from the bed, stopping when she let out a cry.

"Wha –?" he said.

"Nothing," she reassured him. "My hair was caught." It must look like a bramble bush because he'd insisted on undoing her night plait the first time he woke this morning, so he could bury his nose in her curls, but the banging on their outer door was more important.

He pulled on his nightshirt, grabbed his wand and stopped for a half-beat to glower at Crookshanks, who was curled up in the nest of blankets they'd pushed out of the way. Again.

"Stay here," he said, adding in an undertone, "If this is the Quidditch team again, I'll hex them myself."

"Be careful!"

He spared her a scornful backward glance. "Don't be ridiculous. We're in Hogwarts," he said, closing the door firmly behind him. She scrambled out of bed, grabbing her pyjamas and dressing gown, and put her ear to the door, cursing that she hadn't thought to bring an Extendable Ear from her room. But how could she have guessed she'd need one?

She couldn't quite distinguish the words, but the voices sounded familiar. Draco and … Neville?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I trust you have a sufficient reason for disturbing me before I've left my bed," Professor Snape snarled.

Draco cast a glance at his companion, who seemed to be finding the patch of floor at his feet as fascinating as if a mandrake was rooted there. "St Mungo's was raided last night," he said. "Did you know?"

"Raided? By whom?"

"A skulk of foreign vampires. The hospital's a shambles and some of the patients are missing."

"My mother," Neville said dully. "They took my mother."

"Professor McGonagall will speak to you."

"She already did. My grandmother's gone to make inquiries and they'll let me know when there's news. I don't want Professor McGonagall. I want you, sir. You won't be tempted to lie to make me feel better."

"Very well. Come in, sit down and wait till I'm ready for you." He turned to his godson. "You should be with your team, getting ready for the game."

"You can't expect us to actually play!" Draco burst out. "Not after this!"

"Were Mr Longbottom a Quidditch player, I might hold your objections valid, but think, Draco. Is this likely to be the last attack on a family member of a Hogwarts student? Are we to bring all activities to a grinding halt from now until such attacks either cease or overwhelm us? Is the enemy to decide the running of the school?"

"No, but – but Neville's my friend. He shouldn't be alone now."

The professor gave him a long level look that silenced further protest. "I will take care of that. You have responsibilities to more people than one. Go and consult with Potter, by all means, but this attack is all the more reason the game must go on. If we turn aside from our normal activities to weep and mourn, we achieve nothing but to do the enemy's work for him."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I fail to see what you think I can do for you," Severus said twenty-three minutes later as Hermione shoved a cup of hot, sweet tea into Neville's hands.

Severus had taken the bathroom first, so she'd pulled on her dressing gown and dragged a comb relentlessly through her hair till he came out, buttoning his shirt. She'd washed quicker than she ever had in her life and joined them, barefoot but decently covered. She regretted the bare feet almost immediately, but rather than miss the conversation, she merely tucked her chilly feet under her on the chair.

"You can tell me the truth. Is there any hope?" Neville held the cup in both hands and bowed his head as if taking comfort from the steam.

"There never was any hope of your mother's recovery, Mr Longbottom," Severus said.

Neville's throat worked. "I mean about her being missing."

"If she was taken by the vampires, none I imagine."

Hermione frowned at her husband. "Severus!"

"No, Hermione, I want him to tell me," Neville said, still staring into his full cup.

Severus put his forefinger to his mouth and began outlining his lips with it, as he always did when in deep thought. "Death Eaters are not trained to leave their victims alive. There were many such disappearances in the last war and none of the victims, to my knowledge, were ever found."

Both his listeners gulped. Neville put down his cup abruptly and squared his shoulders for a further blow.

"There is just one very slight chance," Severus told him. "If the hospital doors were all broken, as you say they were, she may have merely wandered off into London. If she wasn't hit by a car, she may be wandering still or even safe in a Muggle hospital bed somewhere."

"Do you mean that?" Neville demanded.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't." Severus's finger rested forgotten on the corner of his mouth. He lifted his head as Neville jumped up. Hermione clasped her hands.

"I have to look. I can't just sit here," Neville said, beginning to pace. Books flew everywhere as he knocked over one of their piles. He didn't notice.

Severus gave Hermione a tiny shake of the head. _Not now._ "There is nothing you can do. Besides, if the Muggles have found her, she's probably safer where she is."

"There's something I can do," Hermione said. "I can Apparate to my parents' house and get them to ring all the hospitals and police stations in the area while I check the shops and alleyways. If she's there, maybe we can track her down." Her eyes implored and her husband traced once around his lips before replying.

"Very well, but not alone."

Neville slewed around, scattering another pile of books. "I'll go with her."

Severus stood up the better to loom. "You'll do nothing of the sort, Mr Longbottom. You'll stay here, where you're safe."

"I'm legally an adult. I can go where I please," Neville insisted, but his teacher was adamant.

"You are a student under our protection and you'll do as you're told. What use can you be, a pureblood in a crowded Muggle city? Your task now is to avoid causing your family further distress and to wait till you're needed. It is sometimes no less brave to be the one who waits behind."

By the time Severus returned alone to tell her what he'd arranged, Hermione had piled the books in a corner and rugged herself up against the bitter November weather. He'd chosen her a surprising companion.

"Hagrid? In London?" she spluttered.

"He has some experience in tracking and he'll keep you safe, if necessary. The enemy may be watching the area around the hospital." His eyes roved around the room and settled on her. His lips were pinched together.

"But it must be swarming with Aurors!"

"That won't necessarily prevent another attack. If there's a pitched battle, I require you to leave immediately, no matter what you see. Promise me, Hermione."

She compressed her lips and nodded sullenly.

Suddenly his arms were so tight around her that she could hardly breathe. "Be careful," he said, burying his face into her hair. "If I lost you –"

"You won't lose me."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Yes. A woman aged 45, but she looks older: about five foot two, brown eyes, wispy white hair, thin and kind of wasted looking, unable to speak and walks in a shuffle. She was wearing a ruffled white nightdress..."

Hermione left her mother's voice behind abruptly, as she Apparated Hagrid and herself to the dark lane behind Tottenham Court Road Tube, startling a couple of junkies. She pinched her nose against the pervading smell of urine.

"This way," she said, leading the way around Centre Point. The fountains activated, spattering them both as they squeezed their way around the narrow path. Hagrid pulled out a large spotted handkerchief, which he offered to Hermione first. She wiped her face gratefully and handed it back.

"Severus says you have experience in tracking," she ventured. "Should we go straight to St Mungo's and start from there or check down all the side streets on our way?"

Hagrid tapped the hook of his umbrella twice on his nose and sniffed, turning his nose this way and that. "Nor'-nor'-wes'," he said at last. "Wish I could'a brung Fang."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Professor McGonagall took the megaphone Dennis Creevey was holding and spoke into it. "You all know today's match was postponed until two o'clock at the request of both captains." It was the only sign of cooperation they'd shown that day. "As previously announced, if the game continues into the evening, the pitch will be lit when Madam Hooch determines the light has faded too far to continue otherwise. The unfortunate events of last night have no bearing on today's play. I expect both teams to put their animosities aside and play a good, clean game from now on."

As she returned the megaphone to Dennis, an angry roar went up from the Gryffindors. Vincent Crabbe had flown directly at Ginny Weasley as she reached for the Quaffle, swerving at the last minute. Ginny was knocked sideways by his airstream, and the Quaffle shot forward to one of the Slytherin Chasers, who promptly dropped it.

"Blatching! Another foul!" the Gryffindors almost drowned out their commentator, who was shouting the same thing.

"You have to prove intention to hit," screeched a lone voice over the hubbub in the Slytherin stands.

The blond Seeker suddenly swooped downwards, towards the Gryffindor stands, followed hotly by his black-haired counterpart.

"Looks like Malfoy's seen the Snitch," Dennis shouted. "Harry's after him, no, before him – Go it, Harry! Hang on, no! It was a trick! Turn aside, Harry! He's off to the left and soaring!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione emerged from the fish shop juggling two greasy parcels and two drinks to find Hagrid sniffing and scanning the darkening skyline. She handed him his packet, shoved the drinks in the large pockets of her coat, and started to pick gingerly at her belated lunch, blowing on her fingers before each bite of fish.

"Where do we go now?" she asked. "Have we lost her again?"

Their circle had taken them as far north as Cecil Sharp House and around Regent's Park and down to Marble Arch, and they were now working their way back along Oxford St. It would have taken twice as long to get through the crowds without Hagrid. Gawkers closed their mouths and dived aside in a hurry when he moved in their direction.

"She's off the buses, I think," he said, polishing off a fried cod fillet in two huge bites. "Movin' much slower now."

"I'll just ring Mum again. See if they've heard anything new."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Forty points to Slytherin, but the Gryffindors still have a commanding lead at one-seventy points. Another foul awarded against that gorilla Goyle –"

"Creevey!"

Dennis wiped his sweaty face and squinted against the light shining right into his eyes from the opposite stands. "Sorry, Professor McGonagall – against Beater Gregory Goyle, and Ginny has the Quaffle – Wait on! Wait on – Is that? Harry and Malfoy neck and neck for the Snitch, it's not four feet above the ground! Harry inching ahead, no, Malfoy blaggs, pulls him back – Ha, take that, Malfoy! He's spinning off-course, no, he recovers and almost knocks Harry off his broom. Foul! Foul! Madam Hooch, it's a foul! But Malfoy has the Snitch. A win to the biggest cheats we've ever seen –"

"Creevey!"

"Malfoy flies over to Snape, he's waving the snitch and – he's waving his arm around the pitch, I can't make out what he wants – oh, he seems to be inviting Snape onto his broomstick, never seen that before – What? The lights are out! And there are – somethings – bats? Flying in from the Forest! Professor, what –?"

The rest of his question was drowned out by the screaming.

**A/N _Confronting the Faceless_ is the DADA book they use in HBP. I took the commentator's megaphone from HBP, also. (I don't see why they don't just cast _Sonorus_.)**

**Americans may be unfamiliar with the phrase "safe as houses". It's a somewhat enigmatic UK phrase for "very safe" that I first came across in Elizabeth Goudge's _The Little White Horse._**

**Canon doesn't specify the term for a group of vampires. I chose the word that goes with foxes, "skulk". In fact, canon tells us very little about vampires, so I felt free to use the idea that they can change into bats.**

**Fanon often uses Harry's Point-Me spell (the maze in GoF) for finding people. I've used it that way myself (Post-mort), but it's a compass-spell to find North, not a tracking-spell to find what's lost, so I decided to extrapolate in a different direction here. As a gamekeeper, Hagrid would need good tracking skills in his work.**

**Blatching and blagging are common Quidditch fouls, meaning "flying with intent to collide" and "seizing opponent's broom tail to slow or hinder" respectively. (_Quidditch Through the Ages_)**


	30. Prophecies Collide

PROPHECIES COLLIDE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle, and to my Latin consultant, Lady Memory. **

Ron swore and wrenched his broom around. No way he was going to run and leave all those kids in the stands in danger! Around and in front of him, the rest of the Gryffindor team did the same, as the Slytherins zoomed past to safety. They couldn't see them, but they could feel the rush of wind.

"No! Wait!" Harry's voice came from further back and above. "We can't face vampires without our wands! Into the changing rooms and get them! Hurry!"

Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes seemed to realise at the same time that they were still holding Bludgers and lobbed them hard towards the centre of the pitch.

"Take that!" shouted Jimmy. "And see what you get when I come back!"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hang on! Is that her?" Peering around the car park of the Sports Centre, Hermione almost missed the slumped figure half-hidden by a silver-blue Toyota hatchback. Wispy white hair, muddy nightdress that might have been white once, bare feet purple with cold.

Hagrid reached their quarry first and gently propped her in a sitting position against the wall.

"It's all righ', Alice," he said. "Yer friends are here fer yeh." He reached into a capacious pocket and pulled out his flask. Alice didn't stir.

"Don't give her that," Hermione said, coming up behind him. "I've got some potions from the hospital wing. Pepperup and Invigoration Draught. Severus thought of it."

"He's a good man," Hagrid said, putting the flask away. He lifted one of the limp purpling hands and held it between both of his own. "She's lucky no' ter have fros'bite in this weather."

"Poppy said her accidental magic might protect her, but she wasn't sure. It might just as easily have got her killed. It's so rare for someone from the closed ward to be put in a situation where their magic needs to protect them."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_"Aiolius Maximus!" _

The cry came from at least twenty throats dotted all around the stands. There was a flash of yellow and a strong smell of garlic suddenly filled the pitch. The bats chittered angrily. The mere smell of garlic was enough to prevent vampires changing shape, and since they could only bite when in human form, that was a good thing. Actual contact with the bulb or its products clouded the brain and slowed reactions.

Luna squinted into the darkness on either side. That had been too many voices to be the professors and too synchronised to be the students. Perhaps the screaming had woken the dead, who were now seeking their revenge?

Professor McGonagall's voice boomed suddenly out. "Students! Kindly stay in your seats and let us handle this. Everything is under control."

Luna took off her roaring-lion hat, enlarged it to the size of a cauldron, and charmed it full of spinach-and-garlic ravioli in a convenient throwing size. Now if only she could see where to aim.

_"Expecto Patronum!" _

It was the same voices, in ragged unison. Over her head, a silver wolf soared and began to patrol in front of the stands. All around were other semi-transparent silver creatures, to her left a beaver, to her right a lemur. Their glow lit the night, casting into silhouette the winged shapes flittering around the pitch.

Luna smiled.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Pop! _

Hermione's mother dropped the phone with a small scream. "Oh, it's you, dear," she said, bending down to pick it up. "Is this her? Is – is she all right?"

Hagrid laid his burden on the sofa and pulled out his spotted handkerchief to wipe Alice's thin, worn face. Steam was still pouring out of her ears, blowing the wispy hair into two white wings.

"She will be after we get her to Hogwarts," Hermione said.

She'd have gone straight there, if not for the anti-Apparition wards. It took time to get from the nearest Apparition point outside Hogwarts to the hospital wing. Hagrid had pointed out that her parents' house would at least be dry and warm, and they could regularise Alice's body temperature before continuing on. If they could have been sure of finding someone home, they might have tried the Burrow, but nowhere else. Severus's warning still rang in her ears. It wasn't safe to take Alice where unfriendly eyes might see her, so no St Mungo's, no wizarding areas and no Floo.

Her mother still looked dubious.

"Oh, this?" Hermione said in sudden realisation. "That's just a potion I gave her against colds, nothing to worry about, Mum. Thanks for being on standby. And for all the phone calls, too. You don't need to make any more. This is the one we were looking for."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hannah's hand tightened on her wand just in case. Through the silver glow, she could see at least fifty bats, each with a wingspan of three to four feet, flying in long random swoops around the pitch, battering at the silver Patronuses and falling back. About half had spreading yellow blotches. They were the ones who couldn't seem to evade the Bludgers. Three had already been knocked to the ground.

_Whack!_ There went another.

Hannah looked past them to where the Gryffindor team, all in scarlet, was emerging with raised wands. There was Ginny, Ritchie, Ron – "Oh, do be careful!" she muttered and bit down on her lower lip till it stung – Jimmy, Dean, Demelza … Her mouth dropped open and she stared wildly around the pitch.

_Where was Harry? _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Per'aps you'd better have a break before Apparatin' us again," Hagrid suggested, his eyes sliding to the living room clock. "Wouldn' mind one meself. Alice'll be all righ' fer a bit now." He balled up his handkerchief and swiped it across his forehead before putting it in his pocket.

They'd gently chafed her hands and feet, and dressed her in Helen Granger's woollen tights, gloves, scarf and heavy winter coat that Hermione had Charmed to stay warm for the long walk between the main gates and the castle.

Hermione smothered a huge yawn. "But Neville's waiting for news."

"He won' mind waitin' a bit longer if it's fer his mum's good. It's bin a long day. Yer don' wan' ter risk Splinchin' her by Apparatin' twice when yer tired out."

"I suppose you're right. I am a bit tired." She shook her head at Hagrid's offer of the flask he'd just taken a swig from. "Maybe a cup of tea. I wish there was a way we could let him know."

"He'll unnerstan'," Hagrid said. "He's a good lad."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Ten of the bats lay motionless on the grass when their fellows suddenly wheeled and flew away. A few of the students began a ragged cheer, which spread and grew till everyone was yelling.

Almost everyone. Luna reached into her cauldron-sized hat and thoughtfully took the third-last ravioli. She bit and chewed, her protuberant eyes roaming over the stands and the pitch; the Gryffindor team chasing the bats towards the forest, view-hallooing triumphantly; the Slytherin team, sullen and silent, emerging slowly from the change rooms; the strangers dotted around the stands finally removing their Disillusionment Charms and shaking back their hair. One of them was Professor Lupin and another beyond him had short blue curls.

"GRYFFINDORS! GRYFFINDOR TEAM, RETURN IMMEDIATELY!" Professor McGonagall shouted into the megaphone. "NOT ANOTHER INCH, DO YOU HEAR ME? OR YOU'LL ALL BE BANNED FROM THE NEXT GAME!"

The Slytherins in the stands were arguing amongst themselves. Luna couldn't hear them at first, but then Pansy's shrill voice cut through the hubbub.

"He was right here before the lights went out!" Her finger stabbed at an empty seat three spaces in front of her and to the left. "Right here! And Draco was with him!"

As the Gryffindor team reluctantly banked and swerved, two red heads could be seen turning wildly in the dim gloom. Ginny had lit her wand and was using it as a searchlight.

"Harry? HARRY?"

Too late. Harry, Snape and Draco Malfoy were gone.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Refreshed and unsuspicious, Hermione Apparated the three of them to just outside the main gates. Hagrid hoisted Alice Longbottom more firmly in his arms before unlocking the gates and ushering Hermione through. He locked them behind him. Alice stirred and muttered incomprehensibly, turning her head this way and that.

"It's all righ', Alice," Hagrid said. "It's all righ'. Yer among frien's. Neville's here waitin', an' Frank and yer ma-in-law are safe at St Mungo's. Jes' a little further, all righ'? We'll get yer up ter the hospital wing an' everythin'll be all righ'."

Hermione glanced automatically at the Quidditch pitch as they reached it, but it was empty. The game must be over then, and her husband and friends snug and warm inside. Lucky them! But she'd be inside soon enough. She gave a little shiver of remembered cold, and a faint hint of garlic on the wind set her nose to wrinkling.

"Do you smell that?" she said.

Hagrid glanced at her and away. "It's nothin'," he said, still avoiding her eye. "Likely the game wen' on a bit long and they had dinner out here."

She stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. "It's only just dinnertime now," she said slowly. "What do you know that I don't?"

"Why'n't yer just run along up ter the castle and let Poppy know we're on our way," he suggested, avoiding her eyes.

She didn't stop to argue. Something had happened here, and her rat of a husband had known it would and sent her safe out of the way. She should have known. Oh, she should have known. All those late night meetings with Albus over the last week; she should have known they presaged disaster.

She rubbed at her nose and eyes as she ran. It wasn't just the cold making them feel drippy. She'd been proud he trusted her to search where Death Eaters might still be watching, and all the time the danger had been here, not there, here! If he'd got himself killed, she'd raise him from the dead so she could strangle him herself. She _would._

The path seemed endless. When she raced up the castle steps at last, her breath coming out in loud white puffs, she could hear angry voices through the closed door. She pushed it open with both hands and let it slam behind her.

The little knot of quarrellers jumped and turned, Neville's face brightening then falling into despair.

"You didn't find her then?" His voice cracked and he swallowed convulsively.

"Yes, we did. She's all right, Neville, I promise, just a bit cold. Hagrid's bringing her. Can someone run up to Poppy and let her know?"

Hannah spoke first, stepping out from behind Ron. "I'll do it! Nev will want to see her himself first, won't you, Nev?" She ran off without waiting for an answer.

Hermione pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket, shaking warmth back into her hands.

"Now," she said. "Someone tell me what's going on here. Where's Severus?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" Ginny said bitterly.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Do you still trust him?" Ron said at the end of his tale. "Do you still trust him after this?"

"Of course I do," Hermione said sharply. "Nothing could make me do otherwise." That wasn't quite true. She trusted his honour absolutely, but as for ever letting him out of her sight again – that was a whole different cauldron of Veritaserum.

"Even after he and Malfoy kidnapped Harry?" Ron demanded. Hermione's fingernails dug into her palms.

"I don't think they did," Luna said with as much patience as if she hadn't said the same thing in the same words every time he'd stopped for a breath for the last half hour. "He sent you into the change rooms so he could get away without you stopping him. He likes night-flying."

"Maybe they had him under Imperius," Ron shot back.

"He did seem a little off," Ginny agreed. "He wouldn't kiss me before the game, said it might distract him. Why should it distract him? It's never stopped him before."

_Shut up, shut up! Does this even have a point?_ Hermione bit down on her lower lip to keep back the snarl of impatience.

Ron made a face. "Well, maybe it should have. It sure distracts the rest of us. I've told you time and again to cool it down in the change room, even if you won't elsewhere."

"As if you wouldn't be snogging Hannah for all you were worth if she were there," Ginny said scornfully. Hannah blushed bright red and caught at Ron's sleeve. He patted her hand absently, pursing his lips and knitting his brow.

"That's not the point," he said. "He was a bit weird this afternoon. And he let Malfoy catch the Snitch, that's got to be suspicious. Maybe they did have him under Imperius."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said irritably. "You know Harry's been able to throw off Imperius since fourth year. That's how they knew he'd be able to learn Occlumency."

"Took him long enough though. And we've hardly seen him since he did. He's been off to Dumbledore every night since Tuesday." He stopped and his jaw fell.

"So has Severus," Hermione said. Their eyes met. Ron looked as if he'd bitten into a vomit-flavoured bean. "Albus!" she cried at exactly the same moment Ron and Ginny said, "Dumbledore!"

"Where is he anyway?" Hermione added. _If ever a man deserved garotting with his own beard! How could he let this happen, let them hazard themselves like poker chips? Oh Severus! Harry!_

"Where he always is when we need him," Ron said. "At the Ministry."

"Do you think so?" Luna asked. "I quite thought he was that empty space next to Professor Snape. The one that flickered gold and periwinkle when the lights came back on."

At that moment, Professor McGonagall came down the steps and stopped at sight of them.

"There you are, Hermione. Good heavens, why didn't you come to see me as soon as you returned?"

Hermione's head whipped around and hope flared. She gulped it back.

"Sorry, Minerva. I was just going to when I got sidetracked. Is there any news of Severus? Where's Albus? Was he here for the match? Why didn't he stop it?" She pressed her fist hard against her mouth.

"One at a time, my dear girl, one at a time. He was here, but he isn't now. He Flooed to the Ministry as soon as we'd seen all the children back into the castle."

"See? Told you," grumbled Ron gloomily.

Minerva ignored him. "As for Severus, he gave me a letter for you this morning, after you left." She dug deep into her pocket. "Here it is. Why don't you take your friends down to your rooms with you and settle in for a wait. You might as well get comfortable."

Hermione accepted it numbly. "He wouldn't want them in our private rooms," she muttered, turning it over and over with trembling hands.

"In that case it will serve him right," Minerva said tartly. "Explaining himself in a letter instead of to your face, humph! You give him what for, when he gets back." She gave a sharp little nod and bustled off.

Hermione looked down at her letter and realised she'd crushed it into a ball. _If he gets back,_ she thought.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She let Ron, Ginny, Hannah and Luna drag her down to her rooms and settle her on the empty chair. They settled themselves around her, emptying the other chair or sitting on the floor or slouching against the bookshelves, as she forced herself to read her husband's message and make the horrible, unbearable situation real.

"What does he say?" Ron asked when Hermione dropped the letter on the table and put her head in both hands. "Where's Harry, and when are they coming back?"

"I don't know. Read it yourself, if you like." She clenched her hands and her eyes and her lips tight. How could Severus? How dare he? _'If I lost you,'_ he'd said before she left for London, and never even hinted that it was, maybe, probably, about to be the other way round.

She felt rather than heard them gather, smooth the crumpled paper, and mouth the words disbelievingly.

_Hermione, _

_Today two prophecies collide and all my secrets end. I know I can trust Hagrid to bring you back before or after, but not during, our little skirmish here, and Minerva to give this to you after I'm gone._

_Take strength from knowing that the dreams forewarned me, and we go not as captives but as hunters. I told you I did not see myself taken in my dreams. That was true. The last, longest vision began with the Dark Lord ripping my Quidditch scarf from my neck and Transfiguring it into a whip. Apparently I had been seen slipping Potter the Portkey with which he made his escape. I had thought of leaving you the memory, but I believe you would not like to see it. _

_Should the day go awry for me, do not grieve nor blame yourself for any imagined deeds left undone. In you I have made my home and I want now no other. Our parting is not forever. Meanwhile, live and rejoice, my heart, for both of us. _

_Always, _

_S _

"It's a love-letter," Ron said, staring blankly.

Hannah swatted his arm. "Of course it is. What else would he write at such a time?"

"An ode to Quidditch," Luna suggested. "Or maybe Stubby Boardman's recipe for long-life Polyjuice. There has to be a reason people don't recognise him."

Ron ignored her except for a roll of his eyes. "But, it's Snape. Snape doesn't love people. He wouldn't know how." Hannah swatted him again.

"Maybe Hermione taught him how," Ginny suggested. Hermione stared through the table into a void.

"What does he mean, anyway? What dreams?" Ron demanded.

She'd wanted so much to tell them. Now she just wished they'd go away so she could cry and scream and shriek to the heavens. The pressure of her fingernails against her palm roused her. She might as well explain. The letter said that secrecy was past, and at least it would be something to do.

So she did.

"I wouldn't have done it," Hannah admitted with a shiver. "Not for someone I didn't love. Did you even like him then, Hermione?"

Hermione's mouth twitched into a trembly half-smile. "He said something like that too. How could I think of marrying someone I didn't even like? I told him I liked him sometimes." Her mouth twitched again. "Sometimes." And suddenly she was sobbing.

**A/N Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes are the Gryffindor Beaters from HBP. I figured I might as well use canon characters.**

**The first aid Hermione and Hagrid give Alice is loosely based on treatment for mild hypothermia without frostbite, with the obvious difference that they were able to warm her from the inside out by administering Pepperup. Chafing can damage cold or frozen limbs.**

**Canon tells us very little about vampires, so I've drawn strands from folklore as it suited me. The chittering of the bats is their language in that form and therefore audible to humans. _Aiolius Maximus_ is not canon either. I based it on aioli, which is traditional Provencal garlic mayonnaise.**

**Yes, Luna has mentioned vampires and ravioli before ;P (ch 24)**


	31. Taken By Surprise

TAKEN BY SURPRISE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, begun after OotP and not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle, and to Whitehound, my technical and location consultant. **

_"We can't face vampires without our wands! Into the changing rooms and get them! Hurry!" _

Harry's voice hung in the air like an echo as Snape slipped onto Draco's Nimbus 2001 and both Seekers turned their brooms' noses to the stars and shot upwards out of sight. Beneath them, the vampires swirled around the Quidditch pitch, lunging and swooping.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." It was the same voice, but soft as a whisper. Scarlet-gloved hands clenched on the Firebolt's handle. "I must be insane."

The Nimbus and the Firebolt were side by side now. Snape shot a measuring look at the other broom, closed his eyes and swallowed hard then opened them and took a long breath. He had to do this now. Lucius would be suspicious if he thought the Potter boy had joined them of his own volition.

Edging backwards, he pulled his legs up and onto the wood, scrambling half-upright to crouch over the boy in front of him, his lank hair mingling with Draco's blond locks. The broom dipped and was brought back up, level with the other again.

"Careful!" he snapped.

Licking his lips, he took another breath and then reached over to the other rider and gripped him by the shoulder. Holding both boys for a moment that seemed endless, he shifted his weight and half-jumped half-pulled himself across, sliding down astride the Firebolt at last with a thump that made the hearers wince and thank mercy for Cushioning Charms. He rested his forehead against a tousled black head for half-a-second, breathing as heavily as if he'd pulled himself up a fifty-foot cliff, while the boy pulled the broom up from the nosedive he'd almost sent it into.

"The experience will do you good," Snape said as soon as he could speak, and pulled out his wand and smirked, "Mr Potter. _Incarcerous!_"

Heavy ropes appeared in midair and twisted around and around the scarlet robes, pinioning the boy's arms by his sides. Before the broom could falter again, Snape reached a long arm past him and took control, pocketing his wand so that his other arm could hold the bound boy upright against his chest.

"Very impressive, sir," the other boy said, his pale, streaming hair reflecting the glow of twenty silver Patronuses suddenly released below them. "Just what I've always wanted to see you do to him."

Snape shot him a warning glance. "Don't be cheeky. You'd better mind your tongue if you want us all to come out of this alive."

Two brooms and three riders shot forward to the Forbidden Forest, leaving the noise of screaming and spells and the chittering of bats behind.

"You'll protect me. You always have in the past." Draco's face wore an unusually open look.

"Don't count on it. You need to protect yourself," Snape said shortly. "Both of you. And don't lose the Portkey."

"How am I supposed to protect myself without a wand?" It was the blond who spoke, although both boys were thinking it.

"We've been over this before. Initiates always appear before the Dark Lord wandless. I'll return it to you when the time is right." Snape nudged the broom downwards, his arm tightening around his prisoner.

"Huh," the green-clad boy snorted. "Just make sure you do it before _someone_ whacks a ruddy great Dark Mark on my arm."

There was a small break in the crowded yew-branches below them. Lucius was waiting for them in the clearing.

"Flying tandem, Snape?" he sneered, as soon as they landed. "You always were a dud on a broom."

"A dud? You should have seen him change brooms in mid-air. He was incredible!"

Lucius glared, unused to being contradicted by his son.

"A man worth his salt can always find the wherewithal to do what's needed. Remember that, Draco." But Snape's eyes lingered on their prisoner with a strange gleam. The boy couldn't move away, but he winced and gulped.

"Were there any difficulties?" Lucius asked, squinting at the night sky. "The vampires shouldn't be long behind you."

Snape shrugged. "They seemed to be in some trouble when we left. The other teachers were not as much taken by surprise as we could have hoped."

"If you've let something slip, the Dark Lord will have your head," the other man said, his hand tightening on his wand.

"If _I've_ let something slip? Surely you haven't forgotten instructing Draco not to inform me of your plans until immediately before the match? Anyone would think you didn't trust me." Black eyes and storm-grey met and battled. "If anyone comes under suspicion of loose lips, it won't be me. I suggest you bend your mind to thinking of excuses, Lucius. Unless you want to throw Draco on his mercy?"

Lucius scowled. "You dare threaten my son!"

"I'm no more likely to do that than you are." Snape magicked the fallen broom into his left hand and shrunk it to fit in his pocket. "Here, take the prisoner! I'll go aside with Draco to run through the initiate's responses one more time."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Professor McGonagall stood up from her chair and rang a little gold bell she'd just conjured. "Students of Hogwarts," she announced when the hubbub died down. "In view of the unusual circumstances, it has been decided to move curfew forward to seven o'clock. All students must go to their common rooms and remain there, unless accompanied by a teacher. This is a precautionary measure only."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As forty-four yellow-splotched bats swooped angrily down to the clearing, Lucius wrinkled his nose. "I see what you mean. They reek of garlic," he complained, lifting his wand and stepping in front of his prisoner. "_Finite Incantatem_."

Coughing and spluttering, forty-four men and women fell out of the sky. Only three landed on their feet.

"Curse you for a traitor," said the shortest of these, a squat white fellow with unusually broad shoulders for a vampire. "Your Lord has played us for fools! They were waiting for us."

"Don't blame us for your incompetence, Belododia," Lucius sneered. "You should have been able to fight off a handful of teachers and a gaggle of screaming children. I warn you, if you talk to the Dark Lord like that, the only blood you'll be tasting is your own."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione stared at her silver fob watch. It still pointed to Mortal Peril.

Her friends had fallen silent, except for the occasional "I hate this!" from Ginny or thump against the wall from Ron, usually followed by soothing murmurs from Luna or Hannah. Neville, who'd been kicked out of the hospital wing when his mother had started throwing herself off the bed, stared silently up at the ceiling as if his eyes could burn a hole through to where she lay.

Hermione's eyes hurt. Her throat hurt. Most of all, her heart hurt. What would she do if he didn't come back? She rubbed fiercely at her nose. The back and forth movement caught Ginny's attention.

"At least you know he's still alive," she said. "Couldn't you've put Harry on that watch, and then we'd know whether he was, too?"

Hermione blinked and chewed on her lip. Why hadn't she, when she'd had the chance? Had Severus knocked every other thought but his safety from her head?

Ron saved her from answering by bursting out again, "It isn't right! How could he have left us behind for Malfoy and Snape? They hate him!"

"Not hate exactly," Neville was roused to answer. "Draco used to be a bratty kid and I wouldn't say he likes Harry much, but he doesn't hate him. He'd like to see him get a kick in the backside sometimes, but not a kick in the guts."

"That's very comforting," Ginny snarled.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In a quarry in Oxfordshire, a man as thin and white as a skeleton glared at thirty-two enraged males and twelve females almost as pale and gaunt as himself. To one side, his own followers stood bunched together on the uneven ground, watching. All but two were in their full Death Eater regalia, black robes and white masks; Severus Snape wore his teaching robes, all black likewise save for the green scarf, and Lucius was maskless.

There were also two boys, a younger version of Lucius standing by Snape in robes the colour of Snape's scarf, and a scarlet-clad boy with messy black hair and green eyes struggling with the thick ropes that bound him. The man's red eyes passed over them quickly; their time would come soon.

"I have heard enough," Voldemort snapped at the vampires. "You are useless, incompetent weaklings, not worthy of aiding me in my great endeavours. First you fail to defeat patients in a hospital, then children in a school! Should I find you a nursery for your next target or are you even too feeble for babes in arms? Begone!"

"Your promises –" Belododia began.

"Are null and void. I need not your puling and moaning."

"You would not have the Potter boy without our help."

"It was my own loyal Death Eaters who brought him. Begone, or Nagini shall feast." He gestured to the large snake curled around his feet and it raised its head, hissing.

Belododia drew himself up, his eyes flashing. This base and contemptible lordling was resistant to thrall, but his followers were not. It was tempting to punish them as they deserved, but he and his fellows had wasted enough time on these coarse fools' beggarly concerns.

"The liar shall be lied to. The traitor shall be betrayed. As you sowed, so shall you reap. Our curses to you that your deserved fate find you soon." He whirled into bat-form and flew up, out of the quarry and into the open sky. Behind and beside him his friends flew too.

Voldemort smiled grimly as the last of them lifted and shrank. When they had dwindled into the distance, he waved his hand to direct the Death Eaters into their usual circle.

"Two matters lie before us," he announced when all had shuffled into place, "two guests of honour; one boy that I shall kill and one that I shall admit to our august company. Draco Malfoy, you have done well."

The pale boy flushed and bent his head, shooting a look at the sullen prisoner. "Thank you, my lord. It is my pleasure to serve my master."

"It will be, I assure you," Voldemort said. "But first, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-Too-Long. I weary of his presence. Let us finish the dull duties of the day before we turn to happier tasks. Who holds his wand?"

Snape stepped forward and bowed, holding up two wands in his left hand, one of holly and one, slightly shorter, of hawthorn. "I do, my lord. Is it your wish it be returned to him now?"

"It is. None shall say that Lord Voldemort is unfair. He shall have his chance." With a flick of his wand, the bindings vanished.

"My lord? If I may suggest?" Snape said smoothly, pausing in mid-offer. "Do you wish him to have his own wand, with all its, er, useful qualities?"

Red eyes gleamed. "An amusing thought. Yes, give him the other."

The dark man smirked nastily as he slapped the hawthorn wand into the boy's hand. No one but Lucius Malfoy noticed that, upon returning to his place, he slipped Potter's wand to the blond boy who stood beside him, and pulled out his own. And Lucius had his own reasons to say nothing.

"Now bow to death, Harry," Voldemort said, exactly as he had in his family graveyard two and a half years earlier. This time, the boy jerked a nod and raised his wand without a word.

As the Dark Lord raised his wand to cast, all eyes were either on him or on his tousle-haired victim.

"_Ava –"_

He never finished. As the boy lifted defiant green eyes and cast Expelliarmus, three in the circle surreptitiously flicked their wands and cast silently in unison with him. Voldemort's wand went flying as he hurtled sideways, slamming his head with a crunch into one of the boulders that studded the base of the cliff.

Several things happened at once.

Snape dived past the body, dragging his charge with him, to crouch behind the boulder. "His wand, Potter! Quickly!" he hissed, slicing Nagini's head off with Sectumsempra.

And the blond boy obeyed, silently summoning the wand of yew and phoenix into his free hand and casting a double-wanded Petrificus Totalus at its owner.

"Just in case," he muttered. Over to the right, Wormtail melted into a rat and scurried away unnoticed.

_"Nox!"_ In the sudden blackness, Lucius lunged forward, grabbing his scarlet-clad son, and dived likewise, dragging him behind the fold of grey-striped limestone nearest the bloodied boulder before his former allies could see where to aim their wands.

"Master!" screamed Bellatrix, running to the fallen, as her fellows scattered behind small trees and boulders. Lucius dropped her before she reached him and all was uproar.

If Harry's spell had met Voldemort's head-on, the brother-wands would have tussled again, but Harry had been standing in the circle, next to Snape, in Slytherin Quidditch robes and blond Malfoy hair. Coming from the side, while Voldemort's attention was elsewhere, his spell had bypassed Voldemort's wand, bypassed Voldemort's protections, and reinforced by the spells of his confederates, fulfilled a prophecy.

"Draco! The Portkey! Quickly!" Snape ordered.

The boy who looked like Harry glanced at the boy who was Harry, pulled a Chocolate Frog from his pocket with a hand still gloved in Gryffindor scarlet and tossed it high into the air above their enemies.

"Sorry, Godfa'," he panted, as it burst into flames overhead. Portkeys were never meant to be hit with Incendio. "Can't get rid of us that easily."

"Idiot children!" Snape raged, yanking him out of the path of a Reducto that hit the cliff behind them and showered them with limestone chips. "Get behind and stay out of sight!"

But there was no time to talk. Silhouetted in the glow were rocks, trees, bushes and the crouched and stooping figures hiding behind them. That huge shoulder and arm could only belong to Crabbe or Goyle and that squat lump must be one of the Carrows. Too bad for them.

Hexes flew back and forth. Jugson nicked Snape's arm and a Diffindo neatly severed an inch of Lucius's flying hair a moment later. But sparks had fallen to earth amongst the Death Eaters, setting the brush aflame, and forcing several of them to take time away from sniping to put out spot-fires. Snape and Lucius picked off Rowle, Dolohov and Macnair that way.

_Pop, pop, pop. _

There were suddenly twice as many people in the quarry. The newcomers, wands raised, had fortuitously landed behind the Death Eaters, who whirled, cursed and shot off a volley of spells. Tonks, the last arrival, cast an anti-Disapparition Jinx as soon as her feet touched ground. This time around, there would be no escapes. Lupin caught her arm as she stumbled into a small tree and wrenched her out of the way of Yaxley's Reducto. The Death Eaters, pinned between two forces, dived unavailingly for fresh cover. And the hexes flew.

By the time Dumbledore arrived at the cliff-tops with a dozen Aurors, the battle was over. They sat on the edge and slid down the uneven slope, arriving at the bottom just soon enough to see Lucius protecting what looked like Harry Potter and casting the last hex on a former ally, instead of five minutes later, when they would certainly have seen him attempting instead to tan the boy's hide.

The older Malfoy swallowed down a father's fury; there would be time to berate his son's unwonted recklessness later. "Dumbledore," he said smoothly, his chin at its usual arrogant angle as Dumbledore and his companions stood up and dusted themselves off, "about time you got here."

"Wotcher, Nuncs," said Tonks, eying her uncle askance. "I nearly died when I saw you standing with Harry. How long have you been on our side?"

Lucius smirked at a glowering Arthur Weasley and raised an interrogative eyebrow at Snape. He was as curious for the answer as anyone; there hadn't been a chance to prepare stories in the Forbidden Forest clearing. No, it had been all 'Father, father, it's me,' from his green-eyed prisoner, and 'Godfather says you'd never betray me to the Dark Lord. Are you in?'

As if he could possibly have exposed his son's treachery without being blamed for it, and executed alongside him. And with Draco Polyjuiced as Potter in an obvious sting operation, there'd been no way of hiding it. Snape had had him in a cleft stick, so he'd told the meeting-place and watched Snape send a sea-otter Patronus, with terror and fury mixed in his heart. But what had seemed like disaster had turned to glorious release. He'd never have risked rebelling against the Dark Lord if he'd had another option, but now, here was the freedom he'd never have dared to snatch if not under compulsion.

"Quite some time," Snape lied. "Did you suppose his failure to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries was incompetence?"

Lucius allowed himself to watch Gawain Robards sending the Aurors fanning out to arrest fallen Death Eaters and dispose of dead ones, with a smug sense of narrowly-averted doom. "I must admit to some curiosity about that prophecy," he said. "Was there anything useful in it or was it purely a decoy?"

Dumbledore twinkled at the Order members, who had gathered around to listen. "Not quite either. There was nothing that he would have understood how to use. It said he would mark Harry as his equal, but Harry would have 'power the Dark Lord knew not'. Poor Tom! He never did understand the power of love in all its many forms: friendship, loyalty, self-sacrifice, the love of a father for his son –" He raised an eyebrow at his newest ally, who opened his mouth and closed it without a word. "Or a mother for hers." He smiled on Harry and tousled his sleek, pale hair. "How long till the Polyjuice wears off?"

The real Draco spoke up. "Less than an hour. We took six vials each just before getting dressed for the game."

"You couldn't have," Hestia said. "It only lasts an hour, no matter how many vials you take."

Draco, shrugged, his own crooked smile sitting oddly on Harry's face. "Some Muggle idea of Potter's," he said. "We tried it out yesterday and no one guessed. They put a time-delay on their potions somehow, so they don't start working till they're needed. Incredible, isn't it, what Muggles can do without magic? Imagine what we could learn from them." He glanced sideways at his father, who forced a smile.

"Imagine," he echoed and looked about for a change of subject. His eyes fell on the grassy spot where Voldemort still lay frozen and apparently lifeless. But he'd been lifeless before and still come back. "What about, er, him? Azkaban won't hold him and I'm not sure there's enough soul left for Dementors to Kiss," he said, with barely a shudder.

"I'm not going to kill him," Harry said instantly. "Vanquishing him was enough. I won't be his executioner."

"No need, no need," Robards said, coming towards them. "You've done your bit. We'll shove him through the Veil this very night and have your scar removed tomorrow and shoved through likewise, to be on the safe side. It seems unlikely his spirit could use it as a bridge back, but it won't hurt to be sure."

His hearers glanced at Dumbledore for confirmation that this would suffice, and relaxed at his nod.

"Wait, you mean you can remove it?" Harry asked.

"No," the headmaster replied tranquilly. "I've never studied the Healing Arts. But Poppy can."

"Why didn't you then?"

"It would have been too dangerous. With it, Voldemort marked you as his equal, that is, he inadvertently transferred some of his own talents to you, talents such as Parselmouth that constituted valuable tools of defence and protection. It was Voldemort's mark in you that made the Sorting Hat suggest Slytherin, but you were always stronger and chose Gryffindor, the house that suited your own self best. That was, one might say, the difference between you. He valued only strength and skill, the powers of mind and hand to grasp and dominate. You value most friendship and family, the powers of heart and hand to help and share. And we see which was stronger in truth. It was your cooperation with people who have not always been your friends that brought him down in the end."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "That was not a slur at Slytherin, I hope. We are as capable of friendship and family affection as any Gryffindor."

"As tonight's work showed, Severus," Dumbledore said. "I congratulate you and your house. Slytherins have reason to be proud tonight."

"More like, it was about time they cleaned up the mess they created," Moody muttered under his breath.

"You're free to go for the moment, on your own recognisances," Robards told them. "Even you, Mr Malfoy, since Dumbledore and Snape vouch for you. I expect the Wizengamot will give you amnesty for crimes committed during the course of your duties, but that's yet to be decided, of course."

"Does that extend to mine?" Draco asked, ignoring his father's quelling glance. He owed his godfather his father's liberty and his own life; this was the least he could do in return. Or so Snape had told him.

"Yes, yes, unless you've been casting Unforgiveables or the like. We're hardly going to prosecute the heroes of the war. What have you done, lad?"

"Nothing exactly, but it's been weighing on my mind that I didn't contact anyone about my suspicions. Only they seemed too silly at first. You see, I caught some first years talking to a beetle. It flew away into a bush before I could catch it, but then that ridiculous Skeeter article accusing my godfather of being a bat came out and, do you know, she used the exact same words they did? She isn't registered as an Animagus, is she?" Draco said, with a very creditable assumption of innocent inquiry. Harry turned his face away hurriedly, with his fingers pressed to his mouth.

Robards opened his eyes wide and pursed his lips. "That's quite a serious allegation. We'll certainly investigate it. Headmaster, do you come back with us to see the job done?"

"Ah yes, a sad duty, but one I must fulfil, I believe. Lucius, I'll see you at Hogwarts on my return. We have much to talk about." The headmaster gave the elder Malfoy a very hard look before turning to his younger colleague. "Severus, you're taking the boys back to Hogwarts, I suppose?"

"Immediately, headmaster." Snape hauled the boys ruthlessly away from the dispersing group. Lucius fell into step behind him.

"But – can't we wait till we change back?" Harry begged. "I don't want Ginny to see me like this!"

"And I don't want anyone to see me like this," Draco added.

"If you dunderheads imagine I plan to wait for your convenience to set my wife's heart at ease, you're very much mistaken," the dark man snapped. "And that reminds me, fifty points from each of you for reckless disobedience. And another fifty from you, Mr Potter. I've no doubt destroying the Portkey was your idea."

Harry glared at him. Some things never changed.

**A/N Belododia is a real Romanian surname that sounded quite vampire-worthy to me. **

**I like to ground locations in real places, so the quarry is loosely based on Kirtlington Quarry, a fossil-rich ****Site of Special Scientific Interest that was leased by the local council (Cherwell) in 1997, and subsequently renovated. **

**"Nuncs" is a contraction of nuncle (another word for uncle). It seemed to me like something Tonks would call Lucius if she acknowledged the relationship at all.**


	32. For Everyone Else

FOR EVERYONE ELSE

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein. **

**A/N: Spoilers, seventh year fic, begun after OotP and not compatible with HBP or DH. Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle and Lady Memory. **

**Sorry for the delay. I had anticipated this chapter so long that when I came to write it all my ideas had gone stale and I had to labour at draft after draft till it began to gel **– a**nd then do almost as many revisions in the polishing stage. I hope you'll find it to have been worth waiting for.**

It was cold outside, even with cloaks and scarves and gloves. Hermione and Hannah hugged themselves while Ron and Ginny stamped up and down the porch. Only Neville and Luna seemed unaffected, Neville standing with his hands in his pockets staring at the floor and Luna staring dreamily up at the sky. Behind them, the door to the Entry Hall opened. 

"Hermione? Did Severus ask you to wait out here too?" Minerva said. "But didn't he tell you that the news was confidential until further notice? He won't be pleased to find your friends here." 

Hermione's chest tightened so that she could hardly breathe. "No," she said. "He didn't send me a message of any kind. We came out here because my fob watch showed him travelling and this seemed the best place to wait. What did he tell you? Is he all right? Is Harry?" 

Minerva looked over the little group and pursed her lips. "I suppose it's too late to be mended now. They can stay, as long as they promise to say nothing until they're given permission." 

"Yes, yes, but what is it?" Ginny asked, above the chorus of assurances. "Did something go wrong? Is Harry all right?" 

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" the Professor suggested. "Isn't that Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy coming up the path now?" 

Hermione reached them first, pushing past one to hug the other. 

"You're all right! I'm so glad! Where's Severus, Harry?" 

The arms that had tightened around her, slackened and gently put her aside. 

"He sent us ahead a little because he had things to discuss with my father that he said didn't concern us. You'll find them further back down the path. _They're_ not Polyjuiced, so no fear you'll hug the wrong one of _them_," the person who looked like Harry said with great clarity and bitterness. 

"What? I don't – What do you mean? Tell me if Severus is all right, whoever you are!" 

"He's fine, Hermione, I promise," the other boy intervened. "All of us are fine and everything's all right. We beat Voldemort, and they've probably shoved him through the Veil by now. Snape will be here in a minute, but go have a look, if you like. They're probably about past the Quidditch pitch by now." 

She blinked at him. "Harry?" 

"Yeah, it's me. Or it will be when the Polyjuice wears off and I get this manky Slytherin uniform off." 

"You played for Slytherin?" 

Ron's voice rose disbelievingly behind her as she sped down the path, her eyes stinging from the cold in the air and the chill in her heart. She'd thought Severus would at least hurry back to find her, but he was dawdling along at his leisure – with a Malfoy, of all people! And he'd sent a message to Minerva, but not to her. How could he? Then she was close enough to see them, blond head and dark bending towards each other in colloquy, and she stopped, fists clenching. Before she could speak, one of the pair broke away and came striding towards her. 

"Hermione? What are you doing, wandering the grounds alone at night after an attack on the school?" Severus demanded with a heavy scowl. 

"This morning you said, 'Don't be ridiculous, this is Hogwarts.' And you knew all along what was going to happen," she said, her lips trembling. This wasn't the meeting she'd envisioned, if he came back safe and sound, but she couldn't hug him in front of Lucius Malfoy and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. How could he? How dare he? "Why did you let Minerva know you were coming and not me?" 

"I thought it very likely you were still scouring London. I could hardly send you a Patronus in amongst all the Muggles." 

"Why not? It's not as if they'd see," she muttered. 

He didn't blink. "Please go back to our rooms and wait for me. I have some pressing matters to attend to." 

"Wait for you?" she burst out. "Harry said Voldemort's finished! How can you not have time? You said our private lives would come first." 

"Troubles in paradise, Severus?" the elder Malfoy drawled. 

Hermione spared him a glance of repulsion before turning back accusingly to Severus. 

"I hear Azkaban is pleasant at this time of year, Lucius," Severus said shortly, his eyes never leaving his wife's face. "The more you interrupt my conversation with my wife, the less inclined I'll be to expedite your meeting with yours." 

"Becoming a war-hero has not improved your temper, I see," Lucius said. "I'll wait over there, shall I?" He strolled back until he was out of earshot, heedless of the privacy spell cast savagely behind him. 

"You married Hogwarts when you married one of its teachers, Hermione," Severus said as soon as they were alone. "The only time any of us can put private life over public duty is when the doors close for the summer." The clefts in his brow deepened. "I must speak with the children whose fathers I sent to death or capture, before they hear the news from anyone else. After that, I promise it will be your turn." 

"Oh." She rubbed hard across the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. "Couldn't you have at least sent me a message you were all right?" 

"Perhaps I should have." He took her hands in both of his. "I wanted to tell you in person," he admitted, "not in a Patronus message. I didn't expect you to be wandering the paths looking for me. I thought you could wait half an hour longer, and then I could come to you and close the door behind us and forget that anyone else even exists until tomorrow morning." 

"You thought I could wait another half an hour? I was dying inside with every second!" But her heart felt a little less cold. He had never had anyone who cared more for his safety than his success. It was no wonder he'd underestimated her anxiety. "When I got back to Hogwarts and you weren't here, I was so afraid!" 

"I told you you would regret this marriage," he muttered, releasing her. 

"Don't!" she said. "Don't even try to make this about whether I should have married you. Just don't." She gulped and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the ache in her throat. "You didn't let me help. You sent me out of the way." 

"I didn't send you anywhere. You chose to go to London and I acquiesced in your decision." 

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have gone!" A sharper gust of wind blew the ends of his Quidditch scarf up and her nails dug into her palms with the effort of not ripping it off his neck and stamping it underfoot. 

"All the more reason that I couldn't tell you. The attack had to seem unexpected. How could you have explained your change of heart to Mr Longbottom without raising his suspicions?" 

She bit her lip. "We'd have found a way," she said sullenly. "You just wanted to shunt me off somewhere safe." 

"I had no assurance that London was any safer than Hogwarts, but of course I wanted you safe. I'd have sent the whole school to safety, if I could. Prophecy or no prophecy, would I have taken children into battle, if I'd had any alternative?" 

"I'm not a child. You thought I couldn't do it." She pulled her cloak tighter around her body. 

"I thought you _shouldn't_ do it. There's a difference. You have courage and strength of character and determination –yes, even the most annoying of your friends – but you're not soldiers. And you shouldn't be." 

"We're old enough to fight for what we believe in. We have fought for it!" 

He snorted. "Yes, and look where it got you. Five of the six of you into the hospital wing, needing Poppy's services, and you the worst injured of the lot." 

"I've improved since then." They were standing toe to toe now and still he made no move to take her into his arms. She swallowed and bit hard on the inside of her cheek. 

"You'll never be cannon-fodder, if I can help it. Why are you complaining? You found your friend's mother for him, and that was a worthy task that you should be proud of." 

Her mouth parted. "How do you know I found her?" she asked in a small voice, stealing a glance at his tight lips, his narrowed eyes. 

"I've known you since you were a slip of a child, insisting you'd gone to fight a troll by yourself. Could you possibly have returned this soon without her?" 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hermione didn't want to talk where Lucius Malfoy could hear, and he, after one swift glance at their faces, seemed to have decided not to push his luck. 

As they approached the castle, they heard Draco say sharply, "Oi, Weaslette! You keep your paws off Potter until he changes back, got it? My eyes!" and Ginny reply, "Take the glasses off then, and don't look!" 

"Ah, I should have known to expect your friends to be just where they weren't wanted, shouldn't I?" Snape muttered to his wife. "Well, at least you will have company while you wait." His gaze swept over the group of students and he raised his voice to a command. "Wands away, immediately! Mr Malfoy is an ally." 

"He is, is he?" Minerva rejoined, casting a disparaging glance over the man in question. 

"Indeed. Minerva, will you please join with me in conveying the Malfoys and Mr Potter and Mr Longbottom to the headmaster's office? He's asked that Lucius await him there. Miss Lovegood, inform Professor Flitwick that I will need to see the Ravenclaw students we discussed, in my office in around fifteen minutes, if he'd kindly accompany them there. Miss Abbott, the like message to Professor Sprout, if you please. They'll know whom I mean. Mind you say nothing to anyone else or you'll be washing bedpans for the next month." 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

"It's perfectly simple," Ron said doggedly, while Hannah fidgeted with Severus's favourite quill and Hermione stared down at the silver fob watch she cradled close to her chest. Its hand had just moved from 'Headmaster's office' to 'Potions office'. "The Gryffindor Seeker caught the Snitch, so it's Gryffindor's game. Doesn't matter if he was dressed Slytherin, it's still our match. And by a long margin too." 

"Who cares about Quidditch?" Ginny said scornfully, nudging aside a pile of books with the toe of her boot. "It's Harry you should be worried about.What's he doing with those blond gits?" 

Luna smiled dreamily, painting little golden suns on her fingernails with a circling motion of her thumb. "Take care of the little things and the big things take care of themselves," she mused. "Sometimes it's easier to complain about what doesn't matter than what does." 

Ron shot her a startled look and reddened, but a sudden knocking at the door thankfully closed the topic. It was Harry. They asked, to make sure.

"At last!" Ginny said, flying into his arms and kissing him long and wetly while everyone else stared at the ceiling or the bookshelves. "And no Malfoy this time!" 

"No Neville either," Ron said. "What did Snape want with him anyway?" 

"Said his parents had been separated long enough and sent him off to St Mungo's to help his grandmother settle his mum back in. And then he sent me here as soon as the Polyjuice wore off and I'd changed back into my own clothes. The last thing I saw before Professor McGonagall closed the door behind me was Draco's dad kneeling down at the Floo to talk to his wife." 

"So," Ginny invited, pulling him over to the chair she'd been sitting in. "Tell us everything." 

They spent the next three-quarters of an hour comparing notes. 

"And the Slytherin Quidditch team flew straight into the changing rooms and didn't come out until the vampires were gone!" Ginny said. "Cowards!" 

"Oh, they were more afraid of Snape than Belo – Belo-what's-his-name. The head vampire. Snape had warned them to get under cover and stay put, in case of trouble, or they'd get worse than cleaning bedpans." 

"Belododio?" asked Luna. "The one who wrote _Pastures of Gory_ and _Carotid-Farming for Fun and Profiteering? _Daddy profiled him in the Quibbler three years ago." 

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "Him. I think." 

Hermione listened absently, fingering the fob. _Still in his office._

"The trickiest bit was getting our own wands back to us," Harry was saying some fifteen minutes later. "Snape thought it was worth risking Crucio for. I could have used either – we tried them yesterday – but Priori Incantatem's so rare no one knows what happens if you do it twice and Snape thought my wand might trap Draco into that bubble-thingy with Voldemort if he tried to use it. He gave Draco a Portkey, just in case, but we couldn't be sure it would work." 

"They should have given you a Portkey," Hannah said. 

Harry shrugged. "No one was looking at me. I could have Apparated away before they noticed I was leaving, but Draco was stuck." 

"Draco, is it?" Ron sneered. "When did that slimy git become Draco to you?" 

Harry shrugged again. He had rummaged through Draco's mind before agreeing to trust him as an ally, but he had no intention of saying so. 

"There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other," he said. "Looks like knocking out a snake-faced Dark Lord is one of them." 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Hermione glared at her husband. He'd sent her friends away and they were alone at last, but he'd taken almost three times the half hour he'd asked for. 

"How could you save Lucius Malfoy? He belongs in Azkaban!" 

"Since the Dark Lord's return, Lucius has done as little harm as any man could and stay alive." 

She snorted. "And before Voldemort's return, he was slipping cursed diaries into eleven-year-olds' cauldrons and trying to kill me! I can't believe you! Have you been planning this ever since you got him out?" 

"Of course not, but we needed his help tonight, and he gave it. I knew he would, if it could be put to him the right way. I could tell you that was why we saved him. That was Albus's reason, so it would be true enough." He folded and unfolded his lips, meeting her gaze squarely. "But it was not mine. I saw a chance to save a friend and I took it." 

"You saw a chance to save a murderer and you took it?" she echoed. "Why?" 

He glanced sideways at her through veiled eyes. "I'd have thought you of all people would understand about loyalty." 

She turned away, biting her lips. "You told me the friendship had cooled!" 

"It has." 

"But you still saved him." 

"Hermione, I don't ask you to associate with Lucius; I don't even ask that you let me associate with him. Only that you allow me the comfort of knowing that two of my oldest friends – the last two – are alive and well and finding whatever peace they can with each other. That I have not betrayed quite all of my old companions to their deaths." 

"What next?" she grumbled, blinking wet eyes. She hated to hear that desolate note in his voice, but wrong was still wrong. "Lucius Malfoy, the Patron Saint of Muggle-borns?" 

"Exactly." 

"What?" she squeaked, whirling around to stare at him. 

"You surely didn't think we were letting him off scot-free? He owes us, and we're exacting payment. The price for his life and soul and reputation is that he abandons forever his opposition to Muggle-borns and instead exerts the full force of his political influence towards advancing their rights. Albus called it 'a gentler bondage than Azkaban, but a bondage nonetheless'." 

"What if I say it isn't worth the cost?" 

"I'd remind you that Lucius is not the only Slytherin of my generation to be given a second chance." 

He had an answer for everything. She was silent, digesting it. 

"How can I trust you out of my sight again? You went off into danger without warning me and you didn't even say goodbye," she whispered, reverting to her other complaint. 

"I did. You promised I wouldn't lose you." 

She looked at him and saw that he had his spy-face on, and her heart clenched suddenly. He had spent too many years stalking off to lick his wounds in private; she could quarrel him to a standstill and he would stay and answer and explain because he'd promised her no more secrets, but every word would take him further and further out of her reach. Oh, he would love her still, but warily, from a safe distance. She didn't want him distant. She didn't want him guarded. 

"You're sneaky and manipulative and underhanded," she told him, sniffling and rubbing her nose. "I really don't like your friends and you don't much like any of mine. You treat me like a child and expect me to be an adult. And you trick me into making promises I didn't know I was making, or they mean different things to what I thought." She shook her head and smiled through tears. "And none of it changes anything. I will love you forever." She stumbled forward into his arms, which closed and tightened around her. "When you deserve it and when you don't." 

"I never deserve it," he said, burying his face in her hair. "I rescued Lucius and cast the others into the fire, merely because he was my friend and they were less so. I destroyed the families of children I've parented since they were eleven." 

"You don't think their parents destroyed themselves?" she murmured. 

"That tiny first year with the dreadlocks will have to become a ward of the state. The Marryat twins wouldn't stop crying, even after Pomona took them away." He laughed harshly."Harbin might be lucky. His father only joined last week; he might get out of Azkaban in time for his son's wedding. And my Slytherins!" His hands were like claws at her back. "I killed Vincent Crabbe's father tonight. He and young Gregory are two of the most stupid but most loyal and trusting boys I've ever taught. They're not trusting now." 

She closed her eyes against the pain in his voice. "You had to do it. For everyone else." 

"I thought so, but maybe I just didn't look hard enough for alternatives." 

His shoulders were too thin for the weight they carried. She could feel them trembling. Impulsively, she pressed closer. 

He stooped and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her through the door and to their bed. Was it only five days since the first time he'd brought her thus? She kissed him, her hand to his rough cheek. Then there were no more words for a long time but "Yes", "Right there", and "Don't stop. Never stop." 

"I was so angry with you," she told him afterwards, as they lay tangled in pliant ease. Her fingers tickled and smoothed where his Dark Mark used to be. She thought she'd never get enough of touching the no longer forbidden flesh. "When I came back and found you gone without telling me. I didn't know whether to be more angry or afraid. Or hurt that you didn't trust me." 

"You are the only one I trust." He said. "All my life, I've had to be strong for everyone else. Even for Albus. You are the only one to hold me when I fall. To hold me until I stop falling." 

She kissed him again. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

"And it's really all over?" Hermione asked some time later. "'Broken mended' and 'cold hearts fond' and 'sorrow's grip ended', like the dreams said?" 

"Do you doubt it?" Severus murmured, his lips softly curved and his eyes half-closed. 

How could she, when he looked like that? "I'm just so glad we managed to change it so you didn't die. We must have done something right. I wish I knew what. And what use I was in all this. It seems to me I did nothing but open my eyes one day and find that the bravest, dearest person in the world was all mine." She could say things like this to him now, knowing that he wouldn't sneer and he wouldn't laugh. 

"You did everything." He ran his hand lazily up her body, from hip to navel to breast and up, over her shoulder and down her arm to her fingertips. Their hands locked. "You told me once that you were less clever than I, but I find you so much wiser. You have a sort of cleverness of the heart, an instinctive understanding that's quite beyond me." 

"I don't." 

"Do you know what made the difference between the dreams and the reality?" he asked, propping himself up on his other elbow so he could look into her face. "It was you making me teach Potter and Longbottom, whom I'd despaired of; you, building bridges of cooperation between our houses into strong bonds of trust." 

She shook her head, the wild curls ballooning up on either side of her face with the movement. 

"Turning Potter from a loose cannon into a fellow-soldier," he continued, his eyes intent, "and giving Draco the courage to choose against his family. That was crucial. No matter how we studied the dreams in the Pensieve, we were left with two vital gaps, the date of my death and the location. We knew it was an abandoned quarry, but which one?" 

She knew there was no longer need to be afraid, but she shivered. "You knew the date had something to do with Quidditch. You said in your letter that you were wearing your green scarf. Why is every wizard I know obsessed with that stupid game?" she grumbled. "Couldn't you just have put the house matches off until next month?" 

"Circumventing a prophecy is not that easy. The scarf would have found its way onto my neck one way or another; if not by my own hands, perhaps Conjured onto me by another. We had to work around it." His lips pursed. "The problem was that Lucius suspected me and set up the attack with Draco instead, leaving me in the dark. I believe our dreams showed what would have happened if Draco had been more obedient and I'd had to choose between saving Potter or myself. In this reality, the one you created, he brought his concerns to me." He smiled at a memory. "Draco and I have always been allies, since the first time he climbed into my lap for a sugar biscuit when he was three." 

She couldn't help grinning at the image, although she doubted she'd ever be on good enough terms with her godson to tease him about it. 

"I know you have." She scowled. "And how furious it used to make me when you would always praise his potions and look down your nose at mine." She stroked a finger down his nose to match her words, and he bent and touched his forehead to hers, smiling. "It was always him starting the fights, not us, and you always believed him, always." 

"But you married me anyway. Are you sure it wasn't just to change my opinion of you? In which you've succeeded admirably, I may say." 

"Of course it wasn't." 

He lifted an eyebrow and she added, "Well, not just for that. Maybe it had a little to do with it." She stuck out her tongue. It was a provocation he couldn't ignore. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

…_The four recipients of the Order of Merlin, First Class, were unanimous in modestly attributing their achievements to their family and friends. Draco Malfoy spoke for all._

"_Let us not forget the courageous self-sacrifice of James and Lily Potter, that ended the first war and contributed so much to moulding their son's character. It is an accident of circumstance that placed me in his company on the fateful night, rather than those who have previously faced Death Eaters at his side – my dear godmother Mrs Snape, my good friend Neville Longbottom, Miss Luna Lovegood, and of course the two youngest members of the illustrious Weasley family, Ronald and Ginevra._

"_My godfather told Neville on the morning of the battle that it is sometimes no less brave to be the one who waits behind. He never spoke a truer word. The courage and loyalty of those who waited on our return was an inspiration to us, as it should be to all. I can only hope to, one day, be as fortunate in the choice of a wife as my father and godfather have been…"_

_In other news, the mangled one-handed body discovered in Begbroke Park, has been definitely confirmed to be that of the rat-Animagus, Peter Pettigrew, otherwise known as Wormtail. Cause of death, massive head injuries, is believed to have been inflicted by an owl while he was in rat form. This news enables us to draw a line under the Voldemortian era… _

"So, that's that, then," Neville said matter-of-factly, dropping the newspaper to take another bite of toast. "You really laid it on with a trowel, didn't you? You practising to become Minister of Magic or something?" 

Draco scowled at the porridge he was stirring. "Maybe. Someone has to do it." His lips twitched. "Besides, I like winding up the Weasels. Did you see their faces when I called their family 'illustrious'?" 

"I saw Hermione's, when you called her 'dear'." 

"Yes," Draco said slowly. "So did I. Some dreams come true." His spoon stilled. "And some don't." 

THE END 

**A/N The line about "some things you can't share" is a twist on the end of PS, ch 10, except there it was "a twelve-foot mountain troll".**

**The Death Eaters' children are mostly OCs. The only canon students known to have Death Eater relatives are Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Malfoy.**

**Oxford University Begbroke Science Park is not many miles distant from Kirtlington Quarry, so if you were wondering, Wormtail didn't get far. **


End file.
